


An Unexpected Trio

by Caughtinblackseyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Other, Possible Threesome, Post War, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caughtinblackseyes/pseuds/Caughtinblackseyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Voldemort has been vanquished Harry is ready to pursue Ginny. Unfortunately, he's sorely lacking in the knowledge on how to woo and win the beautiful witch. Harry decides to ask Cedric Diggory's advice on the matter and  Diggory certainly has loads of advice and insight to share with Harry, but those surprising revelations have to do with not Ginny, but Hermione Granger!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay doke, let's pretend that Cedric never died, that the War is over, and that all those students who didn't have a chance to finish out their 7th Year are returning to do so. I know it's a bit of a stretch but follow along with me anyway.
> 
> I own nothing and make no money.

 

* * *

 

**Chapter One**

It hadn’t been easy but Harry had finally done it. He’d bitten the bullet and approached the one bloke who he knew, just _knew_ could help him with his problem. He certainly couldn’t ask Ron. No way could he do that. It wasn’t as if Ron had much more to work with, but he supposed he was one up on him. Ron had, after all, snogged Lavender Brown for a good portion of their sixth year. Yeah, Harry sighed, Ron was definitely one up.  
  
It wasn’t that Harry hadn’t actually kissed a girl. He had, if you counted Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. Okay, maybe Mrs. Weasley was pushing the envelope a bit but he had kissed Hermione, several times. They just hadn’t been romantic kisses, the sort that had your head spinning and your heart pounding. They had been affectionate pecks on the cheek and as a way of saying “hi” or “bye” or when things had been really tough; they were the “everything’s going to be all right” sort.   
  
One couldn’t actually count that lone fumbling attempt with Cho Chang at Christmas the year they had established Dumbledore’s Army. He snorted, what a mess that had been. He’d really wanted it to be memorable, something special; it was going to have been his first kiss and all. Unfortunately, for him, she had still been hung up on Diggory and had blubbered the scant seconds their lips had managed to make contact. It had been anti climatic compared to the first few minutes prior, what with all the obligatory nose mashing and worry over which way to tilt their heads, that along with his glasses getting in the way had made it extraordinarily disappointing and more than a tad mortifying. Therefore, here he was starting his seventh year at Hogwarts finally free from Voldemorts vile grasp with virtually no experience where girls were concerned.  
  
His teen-age crush on Cho had long since passed, for that is all it had been and he knew it now. Now his heart beat for a long-limbed, flaming-haired beauty that just happened to be his best mate’s sister. He felt a thrill deep in his bones at the very thought of her. When Harry finally noticed that Ginny was a pretty girl and not just his best mate’s sister, there wasn’t anyway he could have done anything about it. What with Voldemort and his flunkies dogging his every step. With the war, finally at an end and the threat to the Wizarding World eliminated he could pursue Ginny freely, safely.   
  
It was exhilarating and frightening all at one time. He supposed he should talk this over with Ron first; they were like brothers in every other way. Not that he was thinking of marrying Ginny or anything like that! He was in crisis at just the thought of asking her out.  
  
She’d been real popular with the blokes out and about her fifth year and she was sure to be again this year, and Harry didn’t even know if he even stood a chance. He wasn’t nearly as good looking as Dean or any of the others, but he knew Gin pretty well and thought he might have a winning shot.  
  
Harry wrinkled his nose and then pushed his glasses farther up the bridge. It was slippery with a light sheen of sweat, just like the palms of his hands. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he raised his fist and knocked on the door. After a few moments, he heard footsteps heading in his direction and he steeled himself for the face-to-face meeting.  
  
The door swung open and standing in the doorway was one of the best-looking boys to grace the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Here was a bloke who turned heads, got more than second and third glances. He looked as if his DNA might have been mistakenly mixed with that of the Greek Gods; that’s how bloody good looking he was. Not that Harry generally noticed other blokes and how they looked but here was the fella the girls had nicknamed Hufflepuff’s Hottie. The bloke that the other boys, most of them jealous toads, had given the title of Pretty-Boy Diggory. Harry was now ashamed to admit that he too, had been jealous of Cedric Diggory once upon a time. Mainly, because he had been dating Cho when Harry had thought himself head-over-heels for her. He had so badly wanted to be in his place. He’d wanted to be the one escorting Cho to the Ball and having Cho as his most prized possession at the bottom of the lake. Instead, he had ended up with Ron, which was fine except he really wished it had been Cho. Ron was great and all, but he was definitely no Cho Chang.  
  
Cedric’s head jerked back in surprise when he saw who was standing in the doorway.  
  
“Potter? What are you doing here?” There was a short, awkward pause before Diggory flushed a bright pink. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “That was rude.”  
  
Harry cleared his throat, “No worries, I’m probably one of the last people you’d expect to be on the other side of your door.”  
  
Cedric let out a crooked grin and Harry’s nerves shot up about ten points while his heart started to beat out an uneven tattoo. _Geesh_ , he thought. _I wasn’t this much of a mess when I had to get passed the Hungarian Horntail_. But, then, he hadn’t been about to ask the dragon the best way of winning the heart of one of the most popular girls around and then on how to keep her. Diggory would know. He definitely had the experience Harry needed to tap into.  
  
Opening the door wider, Cedric motioned Harry in and said, “My mum would hex me alive if she knew I’d let you stand on the stoop for so long. Manners and all that, yeah.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, not really thinking too much of it. He’d grown up in a household where very little to no manners were directed at him. So being made to stand at the front door for a bit was much more congenial than being locked in a closet under the stairs or barely being fed as punishment for some real or generally imagined crime.  
  
Cedric stepped aside and Harry brushed by him entering a small but cheerful looking kitchen. It had several windows on all but one of the walls, allowing shafts of mid-day sun to stream through the sparkling clean square-block glass. The kitchen itself reminded Harry a bit of his Aunt Petunia’s in its cleanliness but that’s where the similarities ended.   
  
Where his aunt’s had been scrubbed daily with harsh cleansers and cleaners until each surface and floor were bordering on sterile, Cedric’s was clean but without the aftermath of noxious fumes that so often followed one of his aunts’ bouts of scrubbing frenzies. Instead, it was tidy, bright, and homey. Harry liked it immediately.  
  
“Have a seat, Potter,” Cedric invited, pulling a chair back from a round wooden table.  
  
It was already set for one with a fine lace place mat and a bud rose teacup and saucer. Harry also noticed that a plate, matching the teacup, had what looked to be several currant scones piled on it and a pot of thick, yummy looking cream settled beside the plate.  
  
“Sorry, Diggory. Did I catch you at a bad moment?”   
  
Harry turned his head at the clinking and clanking he heard behind him. Cedric was reaching in a cabinet above the sink pulling down an extra cup and saucer.  
  
“I did, didn’t I?” Harry asked, embarrassed. Diggory was obviously expecting company for tea, a girl perhaps. _Oh, great_ , Harry silently admonished himself. _He probably has a date and here I come barging in. Stupid, stupid_!  
  
“Don’t be such a dunce, Potter.” Cedric exclaimed laughing lightly. “This is for you.”   
  
Now he really felt stupid. “Oh, uh… thanks.”  
  
“Earl Grey okay?” Cedric asked, before pouring the fragrant, piping hot brew into Harry’s cup.  
  
“Yeah, sure, fine.” Harry agreed. Tea was tea to him; it was all the same. Hermione had once called him a heathen with a poor palate when he’d told her, that in his opinion, they all tasted alike.  
  
After pouring the liquid into his own cup and adding a dash of sugar, Cedric sat down opposite Harry and pushed the plate of scones toward him. Harry wasn’t actually hungry but he didn’t want to be impolite. He was, after all, here to ask Cedric for his help.  
  
“Shit.” Diggory’s handsome face filled with a rosy hue. “Sorry, Potter. Language and all that. It’s just I forgot to get a plate for your scone.” Harry could only assume that if Diggory’s mum was a stickler for manners then she probably wasn’t too keen on swearing, hence the flush. Cedric jumped up before Harry had a chance to tell him that it was fine, that he didn’t need one. “It’s usually just me, so I kind of eat off of the serving plate.” Cedric blushed again and through a sheepish grin added, “Don’t tell my mum.”  
  
Harry, who’d never met Cedric’s mum and was pretty sure he never would, replied with certainty, “No worries on that score.”  
  
Cedric heaved a relieved sigh, “Great.”  
  
Harry had to hold back a smile. Partly, because his memories of Hufflepuff’s Perfect Head Boy did not include this flustered bloke who was overly concerned with being well-mannered; and partly because it was sweet really how much he didn’t want to let his mum down. Harry thought that he might well have been the same toward his mum had she lived.   
  
Harry obligingly plopped a large dollop of clotted cream on to his scone, it definitely looked and smelled mouthwatering. Perhaps, he could force a forkful or two down, just to be polite mind you and get Diggory in a receptive frame of mind. That fact that he hadn’t had anything this good since visiting the Burrow had absolutely nothing to do with him scarfing down his first scone and then moving on to another with nary a second thought.  
  
Neither spoke as they ate scone after scrumptious scone. Diggory, the perfect host, re-filled Harry’s cup whenever he noticed the dwindling supply. For a while, the clinking of china cups against their saucers as they drank their tea was the only sound in the room. Conversation being made impossible as they stuffed their faces until the serving plate was empty of all except a stray crumb or two.  
  
Cedric licked his fingers clean of a spot of cream, glancing up at Potter who had already wiped his lips with the napkin provided. Cedric and just opened his mouth when Harry jumped in, “Don’t worry, mums the word to mum.”  
  
Cedric chuckled, before wiping his own lips free of crumbs. “Silly, I know,” Cedric shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’ve had that sort of thing drilled into me from the time I was knee high to a grasshopper.”  
  
A wave of empty sadness washed over Harry. He would have given anything to have had that sort of thing drilled into him by loving parents intent on making him a better young man. Harry could say with all honesty that he was envious of Cedric’s upbringing. All he’d had to show from his own abysmal childhood had been a scrawny build, and over- large hand me downs.   
  
“So,” Cedric interrupted Harry’s musings. “To what do I owe this unexpected though pleasant visit?”  
  
The jittery nerves that had disappeared while they had enjoyed tea, returned with a vengeance. Wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers Harry decided to just go for it.   
  
“Well, I’ve come for advice; yeah that’s why I’ve come… advice.” Harry inwardly cringed and wondered if his comment had sounded as lame to Diggory as it had to him.  
  
Cedric must have thought so too because his brow furrowed into a puzzled frown. “Right, how can I help?”   
  
It was clear to Harry that Cedric was curious as to what and why The Boy Who Prevailed, had need of advice from him. Boy, was he ever in for a shocker! If Harry hadn’t been so dead set on doing things right with Ginny, there was no way he’d be here now. No way, he’d be admitting to Diggory that he hadn’t a hope in hell of knowing what girls liked or --he gulped-- where they liked to be touched and all the other stuff that followed.  
  
To give himself some time and something for his trembling hands to do, Harry picked up the fork he’d used for his scones and absently began to tap it on the rim of his teacup. Harry didn’t know it but each clank was as distracting to Cedric’s ears as it was distressing.  
  
Cedric’s mum would be horrified at such treatment of her second best china but Potter looked so distraught that he didn’t have the heart to reprimand him. He tried not to wince with each tap but something must have shown on his face because Potter stopped mid tap and hastily replaced the silver utensil.  
  
“Uh, sorry bout that.” Harry mumbled, while clumsily fingering the tines.  
  
“Potter…,” Cedric started, “relax.” Speaking slowly and with an encouraging nod of his head, Cedric continued, “ Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”  
  
Feeling a little less nervous, Harry decided to just say it. “There’s this girl. I really like her… a lot.” Harry hesitated, waiting for Cedric to say something or laugh or anything to show that he thought Harry might be sounding stupid. Diggory didn’t do any of those things, much to Harry’s relief. He just rested his chin on his palm and watched Harry with curious grey eyes. Licking his dry lips, Harry continued, “I’ve been kind of busy and I haven’t had much time to, you know… learn much about girls.”  
  
Cedric stifled a grin, it was tough, but he managed to keep it back. He’d never put much thought into Potter liking girls. The poor kid always seemed to have so much dangerous drama surrounding his existence that adding romance on top of it seemed a bit like overkill. I mean really, no one has that many issues, right? Apparently, even with Voldemort out of the picture, Potter needed to drum up drama in some form or other and one couldn’t get much more dramatic than in affairs of the heart.   
  
“So, you see, I could really use a few pointers on how to talk to girls and stuff like that.” Harry’s voice trailed off, dying out completely at the confused look on Cedric’s face. “What?” Harry belligerently demanded, now not as certain that he’d done the right thing in coming here.  
  
“Now don’t go getting your knickers in a twist, Potter,” Cedric replied nonchalantly while leaning back in his chair, eyeing Harry in a way that made him a bit uncomfortable. “You caught me by surprise is all. You’ve talked to girls before, haven’t you?”  
  
“Some,” Harry agreed before amending his answer. “Very little, actually.”  
  
“Potter, I don’t get it, you hang out with Granger; have done for years. Are you telling me that you haven’t or don’t talk to her?”  
  
“That’s different.” Harry replied in exasperation.  
  
“How so?” Cedric asked, waiting anxiously for Potter’s response.  
  
“Well,” he sputtered, “for starters, Mione’s not a real girl, you know?”   
  
Cedric laced his fingers behind his head and he stared at the ceiling of his little home for a second or two before meeting Harry’s perplexed gaze and answering. “No, Potter, I don’t. Do your spectacles need adjusted or something?”  
  
Harry’s mouth fell open but nothing came out and so Cedric filled in the gap. “She’s a girl through and through, make no mistake about it. She’s got quite a lovely figure too.”  
  
“Hermione?!” gasped Harry in surprise, at a total loss as to where this conversation was headed.  
  
“Have you seen her without her robes, Potter?” Harry nodded. He’d seen her in Muggle clothes a million times but she’d just been Hermione. She’d looked normal enough to him, nothing special.  
  
Giving Potter a quizzical look, he asked, “And you’ve never noticed how incredibly full her breasts are? How tiny her waist looks when you compare it to the curvy swell of those breasts and the flair of her hips?” Cedric’s lips twitched in amusement at the sight of Harry’s bug-eyed reaction to his words. “She’s got amazing legs too. Granted, she’s not tall, but they’re nicely shaped and I’m partial to women with delicate, tiny boned ankles.” Swiveling in his chair so that he was partially facing away from Potter, he added, “She has this delightful tear-shaped mole right about here.” Cedric pointed to an area just off to the side and below his shoulder blade.   
  
Harry felt a jolt of fury shoot through him. He felt his hand itching to reach for his wand and he had to actually clench his fingers into a fist to prevent himself from doing so. How _dare_ Diggory make such comments about Hermione! Harry shot to his feet and demanded. “When the hell have you seen ‘Mione’s naked shoulder?”.   
  
Cedric sat upright in one fluid movement and Harry wondered if _everything_ the bloke did was naturally graceful. From what Harry could remember, during Quidditch matches, Diggory had flown like poetry in motion. More than once, Harry had, had to pull his eyes away from Cedric’s form to focus on the game. Sure, Harry knew how to fly well too, he’d been told often enough by others. But he was more interested in speed than in the lissomness that Diggory had so often displayed. Not to say that Diggory wasn’t fast off the mark, he was. Harry just rarely ever saw those two qualities aligned so completely in any other flyer and so Diggory stood out, again! The only other person, who had come close, Harry thought, had to have been Viktor Krum. While Krum had been elegant and lethal on a broom, he just didn’t have that something else. That unknown factor that Harry couldn’t place, couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe Harry couldn’t put a name to it, but he did know that whatever it was, Cedric had it in mass amounts.  
  
Diggory’s abilities, wasn’t just geared in the area of aerodynamics either. At the Yule Ball, he had swept Cho across the floor with a precision and ease that had Harry fuming at his own inability to keep from stepping on his partners’ toes. It had been one of his most humiliating moments to date, and Harry still hadn’t forgiven McGonagall for insisting that he not only take a date, but dance with her too!   
  
Harry recalled with perfect clarity that Cho had been wearing the most amazing robes that he had ever seen. She’d looked so damned glorious standing along side Diggory in her finery. They had been a difficult couple to ignore, that much had been true. Cedric in his dress robes and been every girls walking wet dream and possibly some of the blokes as well. Harry wasn’t dead certain but he had thought that Seamus might have been one of those blokes. He’d gushed on about Diggory just a tad too much and too often for it to have been mere admiration. Adoration seemed to have been better word for it all. It had gotten to be so bad that Ron had finally offered up Colin’s services as photographer in order for Seamus to have a picture of Diggory to wank off to in private. Seamus never mentioned Diggory again. Harry couldn’t really fault him on that, Ron’s comment hadn’t even been addressed to him and he’d been embarrassed by it.   
  
“You know, Potter, you’re a real pill.” Cedric picked up his plate and carried it over to the sink. “Tell me, what difference could it possibly make to you as to when I’ve seen a bit of Granger’s skin?”  
  
Spinning around Harry stated, “She’s my friend and I’m kind of a brother substitute and brothers look out for their siblings, especially the girls. She’s got no one besides me and Ron in the Wizarding World; her parents are Muggles. Did you know that?”  
  
Waving his hand over the sink, Cedric started the cleaning up process before commenting. Harry took a moment to grudgingly admire that he’d done it using silent and wandless magic. Each was really quite difficult and rare talents singularly, but to be able to accomplish both spoke volumes on Cedric’s abilities. “Yeah, word does get around, you know. What with her being a hero of the War and all.” Instead of returning to the table, Cedric leaned back against the rim of the counter.  
  
Harry eyed Diggory’s reclining figure with suspicion and once again held off the urge to reach for his wand. He wasn’t too keen on being spoken to as if he didn’t have a brain in his head and Diggory sounded down right condescending.  
  
Harry thrust his chin out in aggressive manner that did not go unnoticed by Cedric. “Not to sound rude, Diggory.” Harry knew full well that his tone belied his words. “But I think I know more about Hermione than most and most definitely more than you.”  
  
Crossing his arms over his chest, Cedric gave Harry a look that had “are you for real?” written all over it. “I’m quite familiar with Hermione Granger and her attributes, thank-you very much. I also think you’re selling her short in a multitude of areas.” It was stated simply, precisely and with a quiet certainty that bordered on snide.   
  
Harry’s bottle green eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you saying, Diggory? And if I were you, I’d be real careful on what comes out of your mouth next.”  
  
“But you’re not me, are you?” Diggory was standing now, his own eyes as cold and grey as the ice that crusted on the lake during the winter months. “And if _I_ were _you_ , I’d change my attitude and tone considering you came to me for help and advice.”  
  
“That was before…”  
  
“Before what?” Diggory, interrupted harshly. “Before I expressed my observations of Granger? Before I pushed home the knowledge that she’s a real, live breathing woman and an attractive one at that? Or is it the fact that I can see her as something more than an extra appendage to the great and mighty Harry Potter? You, my friend, are an arrogant arse if you believe that that’s all she has to offer. You act as if she’s your own personal wand that can be picked up and used when necessity calls for it, and then be replaced in your pocket when she’s served her purpose; forgotten until the next crisis arises. She’s her own person, Potter with extraordinary talents and a matchless intellect, an intellect that has served you well through out the years with nary an acknowledgment on your part.”  
  
Harry felt sick. Sick and confused. Had he really done all that? Had he shoved Hermione into a tiny box marked, “Harry’s Helper” and then taped it up, closing out the possibility that she was or could be something other than that? Had he really used his best friend in such an atrocious manner? Apparently, Diggory thought so. But the big question on Harry’s mind at the moment was, did she? He wasn’t sure. She’d never given any indication that she was unhappy or discontent with how their friendship ambled along.   
  
“Diggory, you don’t know a thing.” Harry had been striving for confidence but even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.  
  
“I know enough.” Cedric was at the door in two strides, flinging it wide open before saying, “I certainly know that I’m not in a generous frame of mind at the moment. So any advice you need from me will have to wait. And in the words that a Muggle friend used in my presence once and fits this situation remarkably well… don’t let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya. In plain English… get out.”   
  
Harry remembered himself enough to say before crossing the threshold, “Thanks for tea.”  
  
Cedric pulled on every ounce of manners that his mother had pounded into him and replied with civility, “My pleasure.”  
  
But he didn’t, Harry noticed, invite him to come back again. The door shut behind him with a loud thump. Apparently, Diggory’s manners didn’t extend to not slamming doors. Strangely enough, that pleased Harry.

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Sirius have a heart to heart over dinner and drinks. The main topics of conversation are whether or not Hermione's pretty and Sirius shares a story about James and Lily and an incident that occurred before they got together as a couple.

* * *

  **Chapter Two**  


 

 

Sirius watched as Harry desultorily pushed his food from one end of the plate to the next. The swirled, shallow grooves in his mashed potatoes were quickly invaded by rivers of dark, robust gravy. The peas, which Harry would normally have piled on top of the gravy laden pile, were off to the side looking forlorn all by themselves. The Beef Wellington hadn’t fared much better. Though Kreacher had prepared and cooked it to perfection, Harry hadn’t grazed it once with any of the cutlery at his disposal. Sirius had started out with a hearty appetite; digging into his own meal with a gusto which had quickly dwindled at Harry’s obvious preoccupation. Sirius pushed aside his own plate of half-eaten food after taking a sip from his glass to steady his nerves.

A full minute of silence later, Sirius took another more desperate, deeper swallow of his whiskey and fervently wished that Remus hadn’t decided to spend the evening with Tonks. He was so much better at communicating with Harry when it came to deep, introspective “whatevers”. And, it was clear that Harry was doing some deep, deep thinking and anyone who knew anything, knew that deep, deep thinking went hand-in-hand with loads of “whatevers”. And, “whatevers” just weren’t Sirius’s thing.

Not to say that he and Harry didn’t talk. They did, plenty. Generally their conversations revolved around the Marauders and the many hair-brained schemes they’d often found themselves party to. Sirius was all too happy to relive the halcyon days of his youth. He took great delight in regaling his godson, and any and everyone else for that matter, with detail after blush-inducing detail. Sirius often took particular pleasure in embarrassing Remus as much as humanly possible in the process, making sure to press home the point that although Remus had been considered the less mischievous of all the Marauders, he was in no way exempt from their notorious exploits; even planned a few.

Then there were the days in which Harry would want to talk about James and Lily and everything that Sirius could remember from the days when they’d first met in first year until the day that James had finally won Lily’s heart. Now those, thought Sirius to himself, were some of the best and most entertaining stories of all, and not one whit of it had to be embellished in order for it to be so. True stories, in Sirius’s vast experience, had a way of being far and away more unbelievable than the tallest tale told by the biggest of liars. More times than naught those particular stories sent Harry into gales of laughter. And Sirius had discovered that Harry’s laughter, his true, joyous laughter, was the most beautiful of sounds.

Sometimes they’d sit around a table at The Three Broomsticks. Harry with a cold butterbeer in hand and he with a double shot of Ogden’s finest, and discuss less amusing topics, most of which were about the Wars. Sirius contributed as much as he could, he’d tried to blot most of it out while incarcerated at that hell hole, Azkaban. He’d been imprisoned during the Second War as well, in the equally hellish Grimmauld Place. Truth be told, the latter had been, in its own way, worse than the former. In Azkaban his mind had been tortured and raped of happiness and hope; slowly eroded to almost nothing. At Grimmauld it hadn’t been the Dementors with their insidious power that had forced the ruination of hope and faith, but his own frustrating impotence at being left to stew while others took part in the downfall of Voldemort. No, he had done that to himself which had made it all the more damaging and destructive. Nothing brought that point to the forefront more than the days in which Harry had wanted to hear about that particularly dreadful night when all their lives had become a living nightmare. Sirius was less than keen on the rehashing of that excruciatingly painful subject, yet he couldn’t deny Harry whenever he’d asked in halting hesitation. The murder of all those innocents and the loss of Remus’ respect and friendship haunted Sirius to this very day.

Though he’d forgiven Remus long ago and loved him like the brother he’d lost to that power-mad psycho, no amount of love had the power to completely wipe away the hurt caused by Remus’ lack of faith. It was a legacy Sirius was destined to bear for the remainder of his existence. Bear it he must, but rule him? No! Sirius would not let that happen. He had Harry to consider now. Harry, to mentor. Harry, to help establish himself in life. Especially now that there was no longer the need to hide, to run, or to fight in a seemingly impossible war to win.

With a resigned sigh, Sirius poured himself a larger measure of whiskey from the crystal decanter placed at his elbow, steeling himself for the impending conversation which he was about to initiate.

 

 

“Harry…” a voice interrupted Harry’s silent musings, “what’s on your mind?”

Harry balled up the linen napkin on his lap and took a moment before answering. “What makes you think there’s anything wrong.”

Sirius replied, “I don’t necessarily think that there’s something wrong. I actually asked what was on your mind. But since you mentioned it, _is_ there something wrong?”

“Do you think Hermione’s pretty?”

Sirius blinked and tilted his head to the side, and it suddenly struck Harry that his godfather, over the years, had picked up some of Padfoot’s characteristics. He’d never noticed it before, but then today seemed to be a day for previously unnoticed revelations.

Instead of answering the question, Sirius asked one of his own. “What brought this on?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno.” He lied. “Do you, though? Think she’s pretty, I mean.”

Sirius slouched comfortably in his chair, looking to Harry’s eyes, disturbingly like Diggory had in his own kitchen this past afternoon. “Yes, Harry I do. Think she’s pretty, I mean.”

Harry scowled. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

Sirius’s grey eyes sparkled with repressed laughter. “I suppose I am, a bit. I’m just curious as to what brought all this on.” Very curious. “We’ve talked about girls before, but Hermione’s not been one of them. It’s only natural, don’t you think, that I find this little conversation a tad curious.”

“Yeah,” Harry grudgingly admitted. “I can see your point. It’s just… I’ve never really thought about her being a girl before.”

“I know, and I could never fathom why ever not. She’s lovely and has a fine mind. In fact, if Remus were younger or Hermione older, I don’t doubt he would have made a play for her himself.”

“Remus?!” Harry exclaimed, sounding both shocked and scandalized.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…” Sirius laughed outright. “Where have you been, my boy?”

“B…but,” Harry sputtered, “he’s a _professor_.”

“Was a professor; he hasn’t taught for years and he’s certainly not blind.” Unlike others I could name, Sirius thought. “You know,” Sirius chuckled in amused reminiscence, “Remus was never one of those blokes who checked a bird out from the neck down.” Sirius grinned before continuing. “Unlike me, he was more interested in what went on from the neck up.” Scratching behind his ear, Sirius added, “Now don’t get me wrong, he was as susceptible to a pretty face as the rest of us, but it really wasn’t a requirement as far as he was concerned. Had some silly notion of brains over beauty, or some such nonsense.”

“Then, what’s he doing with Tonks?” Harry asked, bewildered. Almost immediately he felt bad, his face burning with embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to it to sound like that. It was just that, while Tonks was pretty in an exotic sort of way, smart wouldn’t be one of the adjectives he would have used to describe her. Funny, brave, resourceful and clumsy as all get out. Those were the words that came to mind whenever Tonks’ name was mentioned.

Sirius gently rocked his glass, watching the amber liquid splash against the sides, not in the least offended on his cousin’s behalf. “What Tonks and Remus share isn’t based on mental affinity, relationships seldom are. There’s a lot to be said for settling into comfortable companionship.”

“Comfortable companionship?” Harry, echoed dimly, not really liking the sound of that.

“There are various forms and degrees of love, Harry. Tonks is far too much of a free-spirit for anything deeper. And Remus? Well…” Sirius sighed, a touchingly sad sort of sigh, “his scars go far deeper than the ones visible to the naked eye.”

A disturbing thought occurred to Harry. “What about my parents? Did they settle into comfortable companionship?”

Sirius threw his dark head back and barked out a raucous laugh and slapped the table with a force that rattled the silverware and startled Harry in the bargain. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Sirius sputtered, “Comfortable?! It was about as comfortable as Hagrid would be sashaying through Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shop.”

“Your parents,” Sirius wheezed, “didn’t just settle into each other, they careened into each other with the force of a nuclear blast! Your mother had the fiery temper of a true red-head and your dad… well he was determined to not be ignored.” Harry’s grin widened. “Combustible, those two! I think,” Sirius mused, a faraway look in his eyes, “in the beginning that he had no real intention of getting serious with your mother. He just couldn’t resist a challenge, your dad. And Lily, with her pretty little nose stuck in the air whenever we “ruffians” were about, making her disapproval all too clear; was a challenge right from the very start.”

“Do you…” Sirius slapped his knee, “do you know,” Sirius snorted, “what your father did when your dear mother deigned to show up with another bloke in tow, to a “study session” he’d orchestrated so he could be alone with her?”

Harry shook his head, eager to hear what is godfather had to say. Stories about his parents held a special fascination for him and he’d never heard this one before.

“First off, we - meaning Remus and I - were hiding behind an aisle of Transfiguration books. Remus knew all the best places to stand when trying to get a clear view of certain areas, knew the entire layout. Real familiar with the library, was our Remus. Come to think of it,” Sirius mused, “that was probably one of the only times I’d ever ventured into its hallowed aisles”

“What happened?” Harry demanded, annoyed that Sirius appeared to be getting off topic.

“You should have seen his face, Harry. All that smugness just dropped off when your mother walked in hand-in-hand with Zelios Ekthris! Dashing fellow and good-looking too. Some said he was the best looking bloke in the entire school. With the exception of myself, of course.” Sirius preened. “Smart too. Double irritating to our James.”

“What did he do?” Harry could barely contain his excitement.

“Zelios wasn’t the only smart one.” Sirius smirked, touching a finger to the side of his nose. “James knew if he did anything in front of Lily, he’d blow any chance he might have with your mum. Lily had neither time nor patience for the Marauders' high-jinks. Thought them juvenile. Which looking back, they were,” Sirius conceded. “But fun, Harry. Such fun! See, Harry, your mom was a lot like Hermione: Studious and responsible. Being named Head Girl made her even more so. She took her duties seriously.”

Harry nodded; it certainly sounded like Hermione. But Harry was more interested in the story at hand. “You’re killing me here, Sirius! What did my dad do?”

“Nothing at first, he bided his time. He was determined that Lily not be able to trace what he did back to himself. Then,” Sirius held up his glass and whispered dramatically, “when he was sure it wouldn’t look as if he had anything to do with what happened, your dad made his move!”

Sirius drank deeply from the glass, he was parched from all this story-telling. Licking his lips, he continued, “With Remus’ help, reluctant help I might add, a batch of Polyjuice Potion was brewed.” Harry’s eyes grew wide until they looked like dark green saucers. He knew all about Polyjuice from his experiences in second year. “I can see from your face that you’ve pretty much guessed what happened next.”

“ _You_ drank the Polyjuice,” Harry whispered in awe.

“Yes, dear boy; I did.” Sirius sounded so proud of that fact that Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “I made the supreme sacrifice on behalf of my friend, and while in the disguise of Zelios managed to get Lily’s nemesis, Lorinda Maverson, distant relative of the Malfoy’s,” Sirius added, with relish, “into a somewhat compromising situation while Lily “happened” upon us while on her nightly patrol.”

Harry gasped. “Was she mad?”

Sirius’ eyebrows disappeared beneath the fringe of his black hair. “ _Mad_? Was… she… mad?” Sirius echoed, as if speaking to a slow -witted child. “Harry, she was furious! Gods! Your mother could pack quite a punch!” Sirius rubbed his jaw line as if experiencing the pain all over again.

Harry doubled over, lost in a tirade of laughter. He laughed until the tears streamed down his face, until his sides and stomach muscles ached and he could barely breathe. “She never found out?” Harry managed to spit out between hasty snatches of air.

Sirius, grey eyes sparkling, said, “Nope, and she didn’t even give the poor bloke a chance to defend himself. As far as she was concerned, they were through and no words, none, were going to change that!”

Just like Snape, Harry thought. Apparently his mother had set a high store on loyalty and honesty. Harry, felt a pang of pity for his old professor and for the hapless Zelios. Harry didn’t have it in him to hate Snape anymore. Not really, not since he showed Harry his memory of the events concerning his mother. What followed later might have turned out very differently if only she would have heard him out. His parents might even be alive today if she had. Not that Harry blamed her, sometimes he just speculated on the “what ifs” and “might have beens.”

“I wish… I wish I could remember them,” Harry remarked in a choked whisper.

“Ah, Harry,” Sirius sighed, squeezing his godson’s shoulder in sympathy, “I wish the same. Two of the finest people I have ever met, and that’s a fact.”

Through a haze of tears Harry asked, “Have you ever been in love?”

“Countless times, my dear boy,” Sirius joked, “countless times.” When Harry didn’t laugh, Sirius continued in a much more solemn voice. “I never had the chance to fall in love, Harry, not really. At first I was too busy chasing every skirt known to Wizarding kind. I was having a marvelous time; beautiful birds every night of week. Then,” he paused briefly while raising the tumbler to his lips, mumbling against the rim, "things happened.”

Harry knew exactly what “things” his godfather meant.

“Truth be told, I didn’t know much about love back then, still don’t in many ways. The Black family wasn’t exactly brimming with it.” There was no disguising the bitterness in Sirius’ voice.

“Me neither,” Harry admitted. “My aunt and uncle might not have been evil in the sense of using magic or siding with a power -mad wizard, but they had their own special brand of evil.”

Sirius grasped the back of Harry’s neck, giving it an affectionate shake. “Well now, that’s all over for both of us. Right, my boy?

Harry pressed his forehead against his godfather's and whispered emphatically, “Right!”

Sitting back, Harry wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt pretending not to notice that Sirius was doing the same.

“Harry, my lad,” Sirius exclaimed in a husky, choked voice, “we’re getting a bit maudlin and that just won’t do.” With a flick of his wrist, Sirius tipped his remaining whiskey back in one swallow. He then reached across the table and grabbed Harry’s own glass, swallowing its contents as well. Sirius grimaced before saying, “I do _not_ recommend pumpkin juice as a whiskey chaser.”

Sirius poured whiskey into both glasses and pushed Harry’s back to him using the knuckles of his hand. Harry’s eyes were automatically drawn to the symbols inked across them. He was curious about them, had been from the moment he’d glimpsed them, but not to the extent of actually questioning Sirius on their origin. He was curious about all of Sirius’ tattoos, but Harry correctly sensed that Sirius wouldn’t welcome such an intrusion. To the best of Harry’s knowledge, no one had asked him, not even Remus.

“What shall we drink to?” Harry asked, getting into the spirit. He, like Sirius, was eager to move beyond painful subjects.

“Need you ask, oh godson of mine?” Sirius questioned him, while tipping his glass toward Harry in a salute. “To all the lovely ladies of our acquaintance- past, present and future!”

Grinning, Harry returned Sirius’ gesture saying, “I’ll drink to that!”

After several similar toasts, Sirius ventured back to the original subject. “Care to tell me about this sudden interest in Hermione?”

Harry swished the amber liquid around the insides of his cheeks, savoring the flavor of the whiskey. “I ran into Diggory today.” Harry paused. He had absolutely no intention of telling Sirius that it was he that sought Diggory out or why. “And some things he said made me wonder. About Hermione, I mean.”

“Amos Diggory?” Sirius asked, surprise etched on his fine features.

“No,” Harry disagreed hurriedly, a small laugh escaping him at Sirius’s relieved expression. “His son, Cedric.”

Sirius rubbed his hand across a jaw again, a jaw which was already graced with early evening stubble. It grated on Harry’s nerves even though he knew it was silly. He didn’t have to shave twice a day. Hell, he didn’t even shave once a day. He’d bet his bottom dollar that Diggory had to shave. To Harry’s way of thinking, it was just one more reminder at how young and juvenile he still was in comparison. Now that he was thinking on it, he kind of remembered a spicy citrus scent had drifted across the tiny table whilst he and Diggory gorged themselves silly. It had been quite pleasant, actually.

“I remember Amos’ boy, good looking lad as I recall.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, that would be him.”

Ignoring Harry’s dejected demeanor, Sirius quietly asked, “Am I right in surmising that it was young Diggory who mentioned Hermione and pretty in the same sentence?” Harry nodded his head in the affirmative. “Discerning fellow is our Mister Diggory.”

“You think he’s right then?” Harry asked, clearly annoyed

“Harry,” Sirius exclaimed in exasperation, “what exactly do you want to hear from me? I’ve already told you that I think Hermione is pretty, so me agreeing with Cedric doesn’t make me the enemy. Besides which, I’m not the only one who’s noticed what a fine looking young woman Hermione has become.”

Harry’s head shot up. “Who,” he demanded. “Who else has been eyeing her up?”

“ _Eyeing her up_?” Sirius chuckled. “That’s an interesting phrase, but back to the subject at hand. Does it really matter?”

“No… yes… I don’t know!” Harry groaned. “I’m so confused, and he said other things that made me wonder…” Harry’s bottom lip pushed out into a full pout.

“It seems to me,” Sirius interrupted Harry’s tirade, “that you’re not exactly sure what you’re feeling,” Sirius suggested to his distraught looking godson.

“I do too know how I feel. I’m in love with, GINNY!” Harry shouted, sounding very defensive.

Surprised at this sudden change in topic, Sirius took the outburst in stride and simply asked, “Are you?”

“Yes!” Harry stated, a mulish expression on his face.

“All right, then. Let’s talk about Ginny.”

Harry’s face cleared and a totally besotted look settled onto it. “She’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Sirius agreed with Harry and said so. “Without a doubt, she is.” He wondered, though, if that beauty went all the way through. She seemed to be a nice enough lass. The Weasley’s were, after all, good folk all around.

“She’s one of the best Quidditch players I’ve ever seen. She can out-fly most of the blokes on the team too,” Harry proclaimed, sounding just like a proud poppa. “When she flies, it’s like watching an angel; she’s so smooth and graceful.” Harry reached for the whiskey bottle. Sirius noticed worriedly that Harry’s hand shook a bit and Sirius determined that Harry was a serious light-weight when it came to alcoholic beverages. From here on in, pumpkin juice all the way. “Course, she’s in no way as good as Diggory,” Harry added, sounding very much like an expert. The effect was slightly spoiled when Harry belched loud and long.

So, Sirius thought, we’re back to Diggory. Fascinating. “I don’t think I’ve seen the boy fly, myself.”

“Oh, he’s fabulous, and you’d remember it, definitely,” Harry gushed.

Sirius was having trouble keeping up with Harry’s conflicting attitudes towards young Diggory. One moment Harry acted as if the lad was a pain in the arse, and the next he swung to the opposite end of the spectrum to clear admiration.

“Earlier, I got the impression that he wasn’t exactly one of your favorite people.”

“He’s not _all_ bad,” Harry conceded with genuine reluctance. “He was real decent about the whole tournament; was one of the only people in his House that didn’t wear those blasted pins. But what he said, the things he hinted at, really made my blood boil.”

“Such as?” Sirius encouraged.

“Today he was talking about Hermione like she was a _girl_ ,” Harry continued grimly. “He called her a woman. Hermione! My Hermione! Our Hermione,” he quickly amended. "Well… it made me uncomfortable.”

“Do you think of Hermione as sexless, Harry?” Sirius questioned, even though the answer was obvious.

Harry grimaced. Hermione and sex in the same sentence just didn’t sound right to him. It sounded downright disgusting. “It just seems wrong for me to think of Hermione like that. Like… like she’s nothing but some kind of object of lust or something stupid like that.”

“Harry,” Sirius whispered, reaching out to giving him another comforting pat on the back, “you’ve known Hermione from the time you were children. You all but grew up together.” And far too fast; at that. “It’s natural for you to think of Hermione as a sister, and most blokes have a tough time when another bloke is talking about their sister in such a fashion. It’s normal, Harry, perfectly normal.”

Harry’s head shot up. “That’s it exactly! I told _him_ ,” Harry said him like it was some sort of foul word, “that she’s like a sister to me, to me and Ron both.”

Sirius’ mouth curved into a sardonic smile. Harry just didn’t have a clue. Was the boy totally blind to the goings -on around him? Ron had been acting anything other than brother-like to Hermione for quite some time now. Even while immersed in the War, Ron had made his attraction clear in a awkward sort of way.

From what Bill had told him, Ron had clearly given Hermione an ultimatum while out on their quest for Voldemort's, hopefully, hell-bound soul. An ultimatum that had torn Hermione up inside. Love or friendship? It had been a viciously selfish thing to have done, and Sirius hoped that Ron had come to regret having thrown it out there.

Harry had certainly forgiven and forgotten, but somehow Sirius wasn’t as sure of Hermione. There had been a coolness between the two that Ron had been trying desperately to bridge. Sirius could have righted Harry’s wrong opinion, but the poor boy was conflicted enough for one day and so Sirius decided to let the Ron situation lie.

Harry ran a hand through his black, messy hair and zeroed in on Sirius’ face with slightly glassy eyes. “He made it seem as if I use Hermione. That I don’t appreciate her!” Harry slammed his glass on the table, and then absently wiped his alcohol -splashed hand across the front of his shirt. “What a load of rubbish!” Harry proclaimed, slightly slurring his words. He reached for his glass, looking a bit confused when he couldn’t find it, but didn’t mention its absence. Sirius had discreetly removed it from the table with the silent assistance of Kreacher. “Well, don’t you think?”

Sirius was surprised by Harry’s belligerent tone and it showed. It wasn’t often that Harry was this difficult. Sirius could count on his one hand those instances and still have a finger or two unused. Sirius knew he had to handle this with care. Truth was, in a way, he agreed with young Diggory. Lying to Harry was out of the question, but maybe he could work it so that he could soften up the truth as he saw it.

“Well?!” Harry demanded once again, his face screwed up into a ferocious scowl.

Or maybe not. Sirius made a mental note to hide the whiskey decanter.

“Harry, perhaps we should discuss this tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to rest.” Sirius suggested, hoping he could persuade Harry to have an early night. If he did, there was a good chance that Harry wouldn’t remember this part of their conversation. The whiskey would have done its job, and for the first time ever, Sirius would be grateful of the after -effects of drowning your sorrows in a bottle of booze.

“I’m not in the least bit tired,” Harry argued, his head bobbing back and forth.

Sirius faked a yawn and retorted briskly, “I am.” Pushing himself to his feet, Sirius followed this statement with another made-up yawn.

“That’s not all,” Harry continued, oblivious to Sirius’ cues. “The worst,” Harry hiccupped. “The worst is,” Harry gulped, as if girding himself against what he was going to say next, “he saw Hermione _naked_!”

Sirius’ legs gave out and he found himself back in his chair completely dazed, he couldn’t have been more caught off guard.

“Are you sure?”

Looking bleaker than bleak, Harry nodded. “He as good as told me so himself, right to my face.”

“Harry, are you sure? Really _sure_?” Sirius just couldn’t fathom Hermione being so casual with her heart, let alone her body, and as far as he knew, she wasn’t even seeing anyone.

“What? Do you think I’m lying?” Harry spat. “He told me, said she had a mole…” Harry hesitated. Sirius closed his eyes expecting the worst. “On her shoulder!”

“On her _shoulder_? Her shoulder?” Wiping a hand over his face, Sirius sighed. “Great Merlin, Harry is that all?”

“All? What do you mean, 'is that all'? Isn’t it enough? He saw her without clothes, Sirius! Without clothes!?” Harry’s voice had risen alarmingly.

“Calm down a minute,” Sirius commanded sternly, thinking it was high time to take control of the conversation. “If you had said - on her breast,” Harry flinched, “or her thigh,” Harry looked as if he’d just eaten something horribly distasteful, “then I might, _might_ have thought something of it. Did he actually say he saw her naked?” Harry frowned in concentration. “Think. Did he say, 'I saw Hermione with all her clothes off'? Were those his words, or something similar, or are you speculating?”

“Does it matter?” Harry questioned in a petulant tone. “He saw a mole…”

“Just under her shoulder blade, right?” Sirius finished flatly. Harry did a double-take. “I’ve seen it too.”

Harry’s face was a sight- a cross between shock and disgust. Jumping to his feet, he yelled, “You’ve seen it too?! What? Does she take her clothes off for just anyone these days?”

“That. Is. Enough!” Sirius roared, pausing between each word. “You are doing Hermione a grave injustice.”

“Am I?” he hissed, still not convinced.

Sirius was stupefied. Was this his Harry, his beloved godson, speaking to him like this? Who would have though that Harry would turn out to be an ugly, belligerent drunk? But, then again, it wasn’t as if Harry had ever been a few sheets to the wind before.

This was all his fault. He should never have poured glass after glass of liquor, especially as Harry had barely touched his meal. No wonder the lad was swaying on his feet and had the oh-so-less-than-pleasant attitude of a Hungarian Horntail. Definitely time to put an end to this pointless conversation.

“Yes,” Sirius stated firmly, rising to his feet once again. “And when you’re sober we’ll discuss this for as long as you like, but until then, we’re done.”

But Harry wasn’t ready to let it go, and Sirius wondered if the booze in Harry’s system had melted his brain completely.

“Feeling guilty?” Harry asked nastily.

Sirius threw him a look that would have stopped half the people he knew in their tracks and scare the other half silly.

“Harry,” Sirius, spoke quietly, but with a thread of steel at its heart, “go to bed.”

Ignoring Sirius’ suggestion completely, Harry yelled out another ugly accusation. “If Hermione didn’t willingly take her clothes off for you, then you must have been spying on her. Did you drill a peep hole in the bathroom? Watch her undress and shower? You’re nothing but a disgusting, dirty old man!”

For a few moments the only sounds in the room were that of Harry’s heavy breathing and the gnashing of his Sirius’ teeth.

“Harry, if you don’t leave this room immediately, I am going to give you the thrashing of your life!” Sirius’ tone and demeanor finally seemed to reach through Harry’s alcoholic haze.

“Fine.” Harry sneered while stumbling to the door. “But if you expect me to apologize, forget it.”

“I don’t expect anything, especially while you’re in this condition,” Sirius replied, calm once more.

Sirius followed Harry out into the small foyer and watched with angry amusement as he drunkenly made his way up the staircase, staggering against the banister. He would have offered to help Harry to his room, but the truth was there was a small part of Sirius still aching to lash out at Harry for the unfounded filth that he’d spewed. But the majority of what Sirius was feeling was hurt--pained that Harry, even though talking through the bottom of a bottle, could say such horrible things.

From above, Sirius heard the slamming of a door. Harry had made it to his room. Whether or not he’d make it to the bed was debatable, but Sirius wasn’t going to worry about that. Sirius smirked. Perhaps a night on cold, wooden floorboards would do him good.

The evening had started out nice enough, laughing and talking about girls and Harry’s parents. How had their jovial evening turned into such a disaster? Ah, yes. Hermione and Cedric, that’s where it had gone downhill. Sirius shook his head in dismay. He’d had some seriously odd evenings, but this one was definitely a stand out. Harry was going to have a hell of a head-ache in the morning. Sirius grinned, a devilish grin from ear to ear. And wasn’t it just a shame that they happened to be out of hang-over potions.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Harry's not too great at holding his liquor (lol).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is thrilled with her Head Girl quarters while Harry nurses a hang over and goes to Hogsmeade with Sirius for school supplies.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

 

Hermione “Plain Jane” Granger, as she often referred to herself, examined her reflection in the mirror. Her mirror image stuck out her tongue and pulled a comical face.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You hate it when I style my hair this way.” A strong affirmative nod and a cross look from the mirror image followed this statement. “Too bad.” Hermione scowled back. “It’s out of the way and less bothersome.”

The Hermione in the mirror huffed in irritation, crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly turned her back. “Fine, be that way. But if you think that your miserable attitude is going to change my mind,” Hermione wagged her finger at the back in the mirror, “think again!”

From this angle she could see that a thick, curly strand of hair had made its way out of the tightly twisted bun just above the nape of her neck. She clucked her tongue in frustration. Why was it, she wondered, that curly hair seemed so much harder to tame? She reached behind and ruthlessly stuck another bobby pin in her head, forcing the wayward hair in place.

A pained “ouch” from the mirror made Hermione smile. The woman in the mirror spun around, hands on hips, and hissed her anger, which only made Hermione’s smile widen. She knew it was childish but she stuck out her own tongue and made a “nah, nah” sound. Hermione’s image stomped her foot, aggravation written all over her unremarkable features.

The real Hermione gave a negligent shrug of her shoulder and turned away, much like her mirror image had done, and stated, “If you’d keep your opinions to yourself, I might lift the Silencio spell on you. But I know you won’t because you’ve always got an unwanted, unneeded, unasked for and totally unnecessary comment to make about my appearance; not to mention unflattering.”

Hermione had actually modified theSsilencio spell so that while her image couldn’t use her voice to its fullest extent, she could make sounds and utter single syllable words. A totally quiet mirror image had made her slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it was because, even though she was virtually talking to herself, at least it was _someone_ to talk to. Although she desired and relished her privacy she could admit there were times when another voice, albeit her own, was welcome. A heartfelt “Shite” could be heard as Hermione made her way from the bedroom, which she ignored while thinking that another modification might be in order.

 

Being made Head Girl had its advantages as far as accommodations went, Hermione admitted to herself as she stepped into her sitting room. The Gryffindor colors were spread hodgepodge throughout its interior. The soft golden glow from the wall sconces bounced off of the rich colors, creating a warm, intimate atmosphere that was quite inviting and welcoming, making Hermione feel that she truly belonged in these Head Girl quarters. Not that she actually doubted that she would someday be here. She was born to be Head Girl, everyone else thought so too. Harry had been particularly pleased, patting her on the shoulder and sporting a proud grin as he’d stated simply, “Well, of course they picked you. They’d be nutters not to.”

In the middle of the room sat a comfy two-seater couch colored ruby red with overstuffed throw pillows of gold strewn haphazardly on top. A faded oriental carpet was spread out underneath the love seat, stretching under the oblong polished dark wood coffee table set in front of the couch. Though obviously well-worn, the carpet was lovely, decorated with an intricate combination of swirls and patterns in various shades of gold, red, and what looked to be midnight blue. Hermione even thought she detected slivers of silver and black in its color scheme on a much subtler level, barely-there in the stitching along the borders.

Two wing-back chairs with slightly frayed arm-rests were situated a little too close to the fire place, in Hermione’s opinion. Eyeing them critically, she decided that she’d move them a bit before lighting a fire, switching them so that the ottomans with their hanging tassels were farther back from the grate. One must be safe while warming one’s tootsies; no need to create a fire hazard her first days in residence.

In the far corner was a sturdy-looking oak table and Hermione assumed, since a chess set sat smack-dab in its center, that her predecessor had used it as a game table. Wrinkling her slightly up-tilted nose in distaste, she thought emphatically, “Well, not during Hermione Granger’s tenure!” She quickly decided that it would be a fine place to stack her school books and ink well, with the added advantage of enough elbow room in which to be able to sit at to complete essays and homework assignments. Yes indeed, it would make a fine study area. The length and width of the table, Hermione noted with pleasure, was also substantial enough for all the prefects to sit around during meetings without anyone infringing on anyone else’s personal space.

Speaking of which, Hermione pulled an envelope from the pocket of her robes, broke open the seal and hurriedly scanned the parchment. A few of the names looked familiar, she thought, mentally trying to place faces with the names of the prefects who would be working under her.

No need to strain her brain where Gryffindor was concerned – Romilda Vane and Colin Creevey. She wasn’t familiar with either of the Hufflepuff students – Keven Whitbby and Laura Madley. Luna Lovegood, who she did know, and Stewart Ackerley would be representing Ravenclaw. Stewart Ackerley? Tapping the list against the corner of her mouth, a picture of a slightly dumpy boy with straw colored hair came to mind. If she wasn’t mistaken, he had been the boy who’d trailed after Luna last year; quiet and shy but seemingly enthralled and awed by the Ravenclaw girl. Two more unknowns – Matilda Baddock and Graham Pritchard – from the Slytherin house rounded out the numbers.

She sincerely hoped that the Slytherin prefects wouldn’t be a problem. They had no liking for Gryffindors, Hermione in particular, and held no regard for Hufflepuffs whatsoever, and as Wayne Hopkins had been named Head Boy _and_ they were both Muggles into the bargain…. Well, it looked as if an interesting year lay ahead.

Heaving a sigh, she plopped down in one of the many low-back chairs. Just once, _once_ … Hermione would like to endure a dull existence! One where she didn’t constantly have to watch her back or carry her wand at the ready, nor to always be on guard, following Moody’s dictates of “constant vigilance!” With absolutely no snot-nosed ogres, no basilisks with freezing stares, no detestable, dishonorable wizard masquerading as a family pet, no getting pummeled while teaching advanced spells to a clueless Harry, no menacing Death Eaters lying in wait and no – absolutely no – Horcruxes! This was her final year at Hogwarts and she wanted it to be her best, but more than that, what Hermione craved with all her heart was an uneventful year. Was that too much to ask? Hadn’t she put in her time? Hadn’t she done her best for the wizarding community? Hadn’t she?!

Of course she had. And then some.

Another benefit was that her rooms were still in Gryffindor Tower, although set apart so as to distinguish her from the rest of student body. Yet, still close enough where she could keep an eye on any wayward and lost-looking first years and any mischievous Marauders-in-the-making from the remaining students.

Letting her head fall back against the plush upholstery, she sighed another tired sigh. She could only hope that there were definitely, absolutely _no_ Marauders in the making! Listening to Sirius brag about his youthful shenanigans had made her wince not only in disappointment in them but at her own reaction as well. She would never, never admit it to anyone, but she had been just as enthralled by his tales as the boys had been. Oh, she’d put on a disapproving mask, frowning and tsking in all the appropriate, or rather, inappropriate places. The boys had shushed her with pointed glares and snorts that stated all too clearly that Hermione, being a stodgy female, had absolutely no ability to appreciate the clever workings of the superior wizards mind. Then there was that other part, the sane part of her that absolutely abhorred the fashion in which Sirius and the others blatantly disregarded every rule in the book.

What a trial they must have been to Professor McGonagall! Hermione had no intentions whatsoever of finding herself chasing around hooligans hell-bent on making her life miserable while being Head Girl. She’d squash those who were leaning in that direction quickly, efficiently and effectively; pretty much like she handled just about everything else that had managed to crop up. Hermione tended to be methodical; life was much simpler that way.

Then, there was her internship at the Ministry. Technically, the internship program didn’t go into effect until after she graduated, but a special dispensation had been made in her case. Hermione wasn’t sure if her role in ridding the wizarding world of Voldemort had anything to do with it or not, but she wasn’t about to throw such a grand opportunity away. Not even if other witches and wizards sneered at her special treatment, as they were bound to do; not everyone was as appreciative of the sacrifices she’d made, the loss of her parents being the most prominent.

After the War, she’d gone back to check on them, not to restore their memories as her friends had thought. She couldn’t do it because she feared for their sanity if she tampered with their minds once more. She’d known the risks, known there was no going back, but she’d done it anyway. Lying to everyone upon her return, she’d put on a brave front as she quietly informed them that her parents had chosen to stay in their new life and had no room for her in it because of her treachery.

Her friends had been outraged. Mrs. Weasley had declared herself and her family as Hermione’s own while ripping her parents’ morals to shreds and damning them for what they’d done to Hermione. Hermione had appreciated Mrs. Weasley’s need to pull Hermione into her family fold, but Hermione knew that no one, _no one_ could replace her parents.

Ron had taken her hand and squeezed it, speaking awkward words of comfort. Poor Ron, he hadn’t been sure what to say. Both twins had offered up proposals of marriage to make her legally part of the family. Hermione had laughed, as had been their intent. George and Fred would have been horrified if she had accepted one of them. Molly thought it grand idea but Angelina and Susan had made it clear that if the twins weren’t going to propose marriage to them then they weren’t going to propose it to Hermione either.

And Harry? He had looked at her with an unfathomable sorrow in those lovely deep green eyes; it was the sorrow of one who understood what it was like to lose a family. And then dear, sweet, undemonstrative Harry had pushed past the Wesley’s and taken her in his arms and hugged her tight; hugged her as if he’d wanted to meld them together, to make them one in their loss and pain. He hadn’t made any promises or declarations, he hadn’t condemned or verbally scorned her parents, he hadn’t spoken at all and Hermione had been grateful. She’d almost broken then, almost. Instead, she’d buried her face in the crook of Harry’s neck and had held him just as tightly. They hadn’t needed words.

Shaking herself free of depressing thoughts from the past, Hermione turned her focus once more to the future. Her future. A future where, if she had any say in the matter, she’d make a difference in the lives of creatures considered less than worthy by some people in the wizarding world—people like that toad Umbridge—creatures who were denied living fulfilling lives with rights and freedoms all their own. Hermione knew all about prejudice, did she ever.

Her own existence at Howarts had been made unbearable by the likes of Draco Malfoy and his Nazi-impersonator thugs. His family, and others of the same ilk, who had been determined to keep the blood and sacred ancient lineage of witches and wizards pure by purging their world of the perceived taint of Muggle blood. They, whose own blue blood ran rampant with enough lethal poison to have killed any heart they might have been born with and she wasn’t even going to go into how it had despoiled their brains. Not that there had been much in that area to begin with, what with all that inter-breeding going on amongst the “prominent” wizarding families.

 

Her internship time with Amos Diggory in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had been invaluable. When she’d first met him she had been less than impressed; the fact that he’d crowed on and on about how his son had beat the Harry Potter to the snitch hadn’t helped his cause. But having worked with him steadily these past few months before her last year at Hogwarts, she discovered that there was indeed something more to him than a scraggily beard and an overblown sense of pride in his only son.

Cedric. Hermione sighed for the third time. Not a tired sigh as those before it, but an exasperated sigh. She might have been one of the few who barely acknowledged his existence while he was still at school; she’d been far to busy to indulge in those sort of hopeless crushes. Helping Harry had been her main focus; that and her studies. Besides, at that time, she’d been hankering after a certain gangly, ginger-haired, clueless boy. She snorted. What a joke that had ended up being.

Crushes might not have been her thing once upon a time, but she was more than making up for that particular failing in the here and now. Now she had plenty of free time to ogle and salivate after a tall, extremely gorgeous wizard who was in possession of a pair of beautiful, intelligent grey eyes; a more than lethal combination in Hermione’s unabridged book. Yes, as embarrassing as it was, Hermione Granger was crushing in a big way.

The first time he’d shown up at his dad’s office, Hermione had been holed up in a corner nose deep in scrolls and parchments. Once immersed in any type of self-education, she tended to be oblivious to her surroundings. Due to that fact, she barely noticed the creaking of Mister Diggory’s office door being opened. Their voices were nothing but a dim buzzing in her ears, hardly worth noticing. It wasn’t until she felt, actually felt a presence at her side that she looked up…and up and up!

 

* * *

“Hey, Granger. It is Granger, right?”

Hermione blinked. Was he being funny? There wasn’t a witch or wizard around who didn’t recognize Ron, Harry, or her on sight. He had to be kidding. She’d play along with Mister Diggory’s handsome bozo of a son.

“That’s right,” she stated concisely. “And, you are?”

Cedric grinned at her snotty sounding attitude. Taking him back to his third year strolling down the aisle of the Hogwarts Express, listening to her spout those very words, in that very same tone, to a small red-haired Weasley with a spot of dirt on his nose.

“Cedric Diggory, of course,” he laughingly informed her, knowing full well she knew who he was just as he was well aware of her identity.

“Of course,” she mockingly replied. “How do you do?”

Crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his chest, he stared down at her, his lips twitching. “Very well, thank-you, and yourself?”

Hermione’s own lips ached to break out into a smile at the absurdity of their banter. “Oh, tip-top and in fine form.”

“You certainly are,” he agreed cheekily, eyeing her lush figure from head to toe.

Hermione fought down a furious blush and failed miserably. With the rosy hue suffusing her pretty face and her ink-splattered fingers clutching at her well-worn quill, Cedric thought her enchanting.

“Yes, well…thank-you,” she mumbled, nervously licking her lips.

Cedric’s eyes followed the trail of her tongue, fascinated by the wet shine it left in its wake. Her lips were not at all as he remembered. Back at Hogwarts when he had noticed her, it had been for her remarkable mind. If memory served him well, and it did, those lips, more often than not, had been stretched into a straight, stern line; probably had to be to keep Potter and Weasley in check. But now? Now that very same mouth was as red as a strawberry in season with its flesh full, ripe and looking more than ready for the plucking. He certainly wouldn’t mind sampling that sweet-looking mouth.

A sharp clap on the shoulder brought Cedric to his senses. “Well, Hermione, I see you’ve met my boy.”

Cedric grimaced as his father waxed on and on about his accomplishments, real and imagined, while Granger nodded and oohed and ahhed, clearly enjoying Cedric’s immense embarrassment.

“Really?” she breathed in apparent awe, but Cedric knew she was just humoring his father and poking fun at him. The little minx!

Clearing her throat, Hermione managed to slip in a word. “This is all very interesting, Mister Diggory, and I so wish I had the time to hear more about your son’s remarkable deeds.” Cedric cringed. “But unfortunately I have to get these books and scrolls back to their proper places.”

“Of course, of course.” Mister Diggory smiled in a genial manner. “Mustn’t overwork the best assistant I ever had.”

Hermione’s answering smile, had he been walking, would have stopped Cedric in his tracks. Had he thought her merely pretty? What an understatement, she was beautiful!

He reached over the back of her chair, pulling her robes free from their resting place. Shaking out the folds he held it up at her back, taking the opportunity to spare her bottom a more than passing glance. To his pleasure, it appeared to be as full and as delicious looking as her mouth had been. No skinny ass here. Fine with him. His idea of good time wasn’t worrying over whether or not he was going to crush a hip or pelvic bone made brittle due to self-induced starvation. Thin was not in, as far as he was concerned.

 

Glancing quickly over her shoulder, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if Cedric Diggory had been checking out her bum! He most certainly was, Hermione noted with astonishment. She wasn’t generally the type that men gave the once-over, and here was Cedric Diggory doing that very thing twice within a half hour span of time. Remarkable. And Hermione had to admit, more than a bit flattering. Cedric was every witch’s walking wet dream and more than a few wizards’ too, she was sure. An image of Seamus flashed across her mind. She bit her lip to keep the giggles at bay. She had no difficulty remembering the late night discussions between her roommates on the issue of Seamus’ sexuality. Poor Parvati. She had been hopelessly infatuated with the Irish wizard, who had only had eyes for the one carefully settling her robes over her shoulders.

Was it her imagination, or had Cedric’s fingers brushed the exposed skin at the nape of her neck as he pulled his hands back from their completed task? She shivered and when she turned to thank him she knew she hadn’t been mistaken. He had a look on his face of a man who knew exactly how to touch a woman and get the reaction he’d just gotten from her. That sort of cockiness irritated her to no end.

Taking a step away, she drew herself up to her less than impressive 5’3” before giving him a sneer that would have rivaled a Malfoy’s. “Quite the little gent, aren’t you?”

Cedric didn’t know it was possible for someone so tiny to look down their nose at someone of his height, but she’d certainly proven him wrong. And the aristocratic sneer was a nice touch.

“No one could accuse my Cedric of being anything less than a gentleman,” Mister Diggory enthused. “His mother and I taught our boy to treat witches with respect.”

Pulling her cloak tighter around her throat, Hermione smiled at Mister Diggory while looking at Cedric with no trace of humor and no sincerity to speak of and replied, “Your son does you credit.”

Phew, thought Cedric. She certainly wasn’t pulling any punches. Quite the little firecracker, in fact, and wasn’t it just a perfect coincidence that Cedric was more than a little fond of firecrackers. They could be deceptively plain and unassuming on the outside, until a flame placed against the wick catches, sending a dismissive-looking spark to travel to its destination and then…stand back! Whistles and horns with an explosive blast of a myriad of colors and lights zinging about in all sorts of directions! To Cedric’s mind, Hermione Granger was a firecracker in the making and he had no trouble whatsoever in seeing himself in the role of the much-needed flame.

“Thank-you, Mister Diggory for allowing me to sit in on your meetings,” she said, offering him her hand. “You’ve been tremendously helpful. I’ll just drop these off on my way out, shall I? Save you the trouble.”

Taking her hand, Mister Diggory gave it a good shake, keeping in mind not to squeeze too heartily. “Hermione, you’ve been an apt and attentive assistant and I sincerely hope this won’t be the end of our association.”

“Hardly,” she assured him. Hermione pulled her hand from his grasp, saying, “I’ll be starting my last year at Hogwarts but I’ll have plenty of free time until then. A good month or so.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying for your NEWTS?” Cedric enquired. “If I recall, you were a great one for studying in advance. Almost paranoid, one might say.”

Cedric just had to get a dig in, had to. And by the look on her face, he’d succeeded admirably. He hadn’t had this much fun with a witch that didn’t require him getting naked and sweaty in ages.

In her best high-falooting, you-are-a mere-flobberworm-on my-radar voice, Hermione pronounced, “I’m secure enough in my intellectual capabilities, as my OWLS can attest to, that I find myself eager to learn knowledge firsthand from your father. He’s been an inspiration.”

“Oh, I know,” Cedric agreed, leaning forward into Hermione’s personal space. She had to struggle not to step back. He was far too close for comfort. And great Merlin’s whiskers, he smelled good! “Any progress on your little spew project?”

Hermione’s eyes glittered. How dare he make fun of one of her life’s ambitions? Crossing her arms in what Cedric noted was a protective gesture, Hermione stated through stiff lips, “For your information it’s S.P.E.W., not ‘spew.’ And I suppose to the unenlightened eye it would appear that very little progress has been made. I have faith that those of the Wizarding world will make every effort to broaden their minds on this subject.” Really getting into one of her dearest hopes, Hermione plowed right on. “House elves have been brain-washed into thinking that they have no rights of their own.”

 

Cedric let her rattle on for a bit. Her enthusiasm was impressive, even if some of her notions were a tad dotty. It was clear that she had put her heart and soul into this venture and Cedric admired her for it. Sadly, she was more than likely doomed to disappointment. The elves themselves did not believe they were enslaved, so it was pointless to start a revolution where no one involved felt there was an injustice taking place.

“They’ve been subjugated for long enough. Now is the time to make a move. Now is the time….”

“You can get down now,” Cedric interrupted her zealous tirade.

“Down?” she asked, confused.

“From your high horse, from your soap box, from your pulpit and from your righteous indignation,” Cedric suggested softly.

Amos cleared his throat loudly. Personally, he disagreed entirely with Hermione’s assessment of house elves, but he remained silent on the subject. Other than that tiny anomaly, Hermione Granger was one of the finest witches he’d had the privilege of working with. He certainly wasn’t going to brand her as an upstart because of it. Although he wished she’d manage to keep her views to herself, as others in the Ministry weren’t so inclined to see past her silly notion. A hero of the War she might be, but that status wouldn’t protect her from the more powerful members who wouldn’t hesitate to squash her into the ground should she become a public nuisance.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione huffed, “I see you’re one of those who will need to be yanked into the more enlightened age.”

“Yanking implies force, Granger, and you can’t force people into doing or believing in anything they don’t want to. Forcing can only lead to disaster. You’d be no better than those pure blood arses determined for no good reason to ostracize and eradicate you and all other Muggleborn witches and wizards from magic and the like.”

Taking a step closer, she spat out angrily, “Don’t you dare lump me in with those heinous, malignant murderers!”

Bending so that they were virtually nose to nose, Cedric warned, “Then don’t _yank_ me in that direction.”

Seething, Hermione turned to stomp away when her arm was grabbed and she was spun around to face Cedric once more. “Don’t get me wrong, Granger, I admire your passion and the fact that you want to elevate those you consider to be down-trodden, it’s quite commendable.” Hermione’s ire was somewhat appeased by his words. “But use that stupendous noggin situated above your shoulders. I’d really hate for anything unfortunate to happen to someone so lovely inside and out.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Cedric Diggory thought she was lovely? It was like riding a rollercoaster. On one sharp turn he made her want to slap him silly and the next, to kiss him silly. Kiss? Oh, Gods. Where had that thought come from? Merlin, she was losing her mind!

Cedric released her slowly, reluctantly. She really was something, he thought, and definitely someone he’d like to get to know better. Her dark eyes reminded him of a type of flower his mother was particularly fond of, the black-eyed Susan. And this close up he could tell she smelled just as sweet as one too.

Clearing his throat again, Amos cut through the building, tension between his son and Hermione. “You’d best be on your way, Hermione. Here you go,” he said, gathering up and handing her several large tomes and parchments.

She accepted them with a small grunt at their weight. “Yes, I have a million things to do. I thought I’d visit Diagon Alley early,” she rushed on, flustered by the intensity of Cedric’s gaze. “Books, quills and the like.” She was babbling like an idiot but couldn’t seem to stop. “I…I received an owl yesterday; I made Head Girl.” Hermione closed her eyes in despair. Now she sounded like she was bragging.

“That’s wonderful, Granger. I remember how excited I was when the owl arrived with the news that I’d made Head Boy.”

He was smiling, which was a good sign, making her feel better. Perhaps he didn’t think she was a horrible braggart after all. It annoyed her at how relieved she felt at the thought. Why should she care whether or not gloriously good-looking Cedric Diggory thought she thought she was self-important? She didn’t know, but she did.

“Well, off you go then,” Amos said, ushering Hermione to the door. “Will you be by tomorrow, Hermione? I have access to several books written by Newt Scamander which you might find interesting.”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled, her hands literally itched at the thought of touching the books as she breathed, “I’d love that, Mister Diggory.”

Patting her on the back, Amos was smiled indulgently before saying, “Cedric, be a good lad and take a few of these parchments from Hermione.”

“Oh, no…,” Hermione protested.

“Don’t be silly, Granger. I was already planning on walking you back to the Ministry’s library. My father simply preceded my initial intentions.”

Reaching into the cradle of her arms, Cedric scooped out several items. It wasn’t intentional, he certainly hadn’t set out to cop a feel, but in his quest he’d managed to brush one of her breasts with the back of his hand. If the quick indrawn breath was anything to go by, it hadn’t gone unnoticed by her, either. Their eyes locked.

An apology would have been in order but it wasn’t forthcoming because in all honesty, he wasn’t sorry. The contact, though fleeting, was enough for him to tell how firm but soft her breast had been against his knuckles.

“Let’s go, Granger,” Cedric ordered, his voice hoarse. Yes, let’s go before I do something _really_ stupid. Like, push all those annoying obstacles that stand between us aside so that I can cup your breast in my hand, the way I really want to. Not momentarily, not briefly and not fleetingly but completely, totally and without reserve; so that I can test the weight of your flesh as it overflows in my palms. And it would, Cedric knew that it would.

Sweet Merlin! He’d never been more thankful for the thick folds of his robes. It was positively mortifying the degree of arousal he was experiencing by just _thinking_ about touching Granger! He’d better put a halt to all this fantasizing or he’d be walking doubled over to that damned library.

Swallowing past the large lump in her throat, Hermione nodded dumbly, incapable of speech. She carefully avoided any further contact with Cedric, slipping by him in the doorway. She probably looked ridiculous, scurrying sideways like a blast-ended skrewt, but she was beyond caring. She just wanted to get out, get away, and not just away from Cedric the person but away from Cedric the man. The man who with a single, solitary barely-there stroke, had her knees shaking and shimmying as if she were on the Hogwarts Express when it had mysteriously gone out of control.

They’d made their way to the Ministry Library without saying another word, which suited Hermione just fine, considering she was just discovering how difficult it was to speak with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth and your mind whirling a mile a minute. Cedric hadn’t seemed all that troubled by the silence either. Perhaps he was just as uncomfortable as she was. He’d certainly looked uncomfortably flushed.

 

They’d uttered awkward good-byes outside the library door after dispatching their load onto the desk of a librarian who bore an alarming resemblance to a male version of Miss Pince. Cedric, who had been heading to the elevator, stopped so suddenly that several inter-office memos flying behind him got caught in his hair and under the collar of his robes. Disgruntled employees forcibly pushed him out of the way, muttering and glaring their displeasure.

Hermione thought he’d looked like an exceptionally good-looking Easter Bunny with the airplane shaped memos sticking out of head at such odd angles. Giggling, she plucked them from his hair, which, she noted, was as silky as it looked. By the time she had finished de-memoing him, they were both laughing at the silliness of the whole thing, dispelling the uneasy silence and tension that had grown between them on their journey to the library.

“Thanks, Granger,” Cedric said, trying to put his hair back into place.

“Here, bend down again,” she ordered, slapping his hands away. “You’re just messing it up more.”

Amused, Cedric did as she bade him and let her rake her fingers through his mussed hair until it looked relatively neat and close to how it had looked before he’d been ambushed by airborne memos.

“There, that’s better,” she stated, taking a step back and looking pleased with herself and her handiwork.

“I should thank you properly,” Cedric replied, sounding stiff and formal but the light in his eyes belied the tone. “It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione agreed, sounding prim and proper. “One should always utilize one’s upbringing to its full potential. Your parents would certainly want you to be the honorable gentleman they brought you up to be, don’t you think?”

Where Hermione had gotten the nerve to play along with Cedric, she wasn’t certain. But here she was flirting with him as if she’d flirted with hundreds of boys before. During her previous school years, flirting, in Hermione’s eyes, had been a stupid ploy that only silly little bints like Lavender Brown used to garner attention from the equally silly boys who fell for it lock, stock and barrel.

She never quite got the concept of acting coy, seeing it as a total waste of time when things could move along much more quickly if you’d just state clearly, simply and concisely whatever it was you wanted to say. But then, that advice had been geared into the avenue of her studies and keeping her own two silly boys out of trouble; not in the romantic sense at all. Hermione, in the midst of a flirtation now, could appreciate the difference.

“So, then…how about lunch?” Cedric suggested.

Smiling, Hermione replied, “Lunch sounds lovely.”

 

* * *

And it had been. Very.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry pays Hermione an unexpected visit in her Head Girls quarters while Hermione prepares tea for an expected guest.

* * *

 

A knock on the door brought Hermione out of her reverie. Standing up, she strode to the door which had Hermione Granger, Head Girl emblazoned on the other side, and pulled it open.  
  
  
“Harry!” she exclaimed in true delight.   
  
  
Harry winced. His head was still killing him. Sirius had had no sympathy for Harry’s plight when he’d finally managed to make his way downstairs well after noon that day. In fact, Sirius had gleefully encouraged Remus to cross over from the low out-of-tune whistling Harry had become accustomed to while residing at Grimmauld, to the totally out-of-tune singing from the gut that he wasn’t. His godfather continued egging Remus on until his former professor was singing at the top of his lungs. Badly. Even through the thick cotton-wool barrier which seemed to wrap itself around Harry from the neck up, he’d had no problems determining that.   
  
  
Harry supposed Sirius’ reasoning was, Why not? Remus was, at that point, more than likely the only cheerful person within the vicinity. So why not vocalize his good spirits to all and sundry? It had been excruciating. Remus had been full of apologies to Harry and baleful glares to Sirius when he realized Harry’s poor condition and the reason for it.   
  
  
Pulling the door open further, she invited him in with a wave of her hand. “What are you doing here?”   
  
  
Stepping inside the room, his green eyes widened, taking in his surroundings. “Wow, Hermione. This is amazing.”   
  
  
Hermione preened a bit at the awe in Harry’s voice. Shrugging and going for nonchalant, she said, “It’s all right, I suppose.”   
  
  
Whirling around to face her, he asked in a stunned manner, “You _suppose_?”   
  
  
Then Hermione did something that Harry had never witnessed before. She squealed loudly and started jumping up and down while her dark brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Harry was astounded. Hermione – their no-nonsense, one-of-the-guys Hermione – was acting like a _girl_?   
  
  
Her unusual, and to Harry’s mind, slightly discomfiting reaction was nonetheless contagious and Harry found himself grinning like an idiot and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.  
  
  
Grabbing his hands, Hermione pulled him further into the room, talking and gushing continuously. “Okay, okay… you couldn’t be more right; it is amazing! It’s stupendous! It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen here at Hogwarts. And Harry…” She threw her arms around him, “It’s mine!”   
  
  
Drawing back, she rephrased her statement: “Well, mine for the year at least.” Frowning, Hermione took a good look at Harry before saying, “Harry, you look like crap.”  
  
  
Shame-faced, Harry pushed her away, trying to ignore her searching stare. He _felt_ like crap.   
  
  
“Sirius and I sort of celebrated a bit too much last night, is all.” Harry felt a momentary twinge of guilt at the out-and-out lie but he wasn’t about to explain to Hermione that he’d all but accused his godfather of sneaking a peek at her while bathing. Gods, he was an idiot! An idiot with dry mouth and a throbbing in his temples that not even the hang-over potion that Remus had poured down his throat had managed to cure.   
  
  
Course, Remus had to brew it himself – after his godfather had rather gleefully announced they were out of the much needed concoction – and the fact that Remus had to hurry it along instead of letting it steep and simmer the required time had diminished its potency quite a bit. Still, Harry didn’t feel quite as much like the scum under a slug as he had when he’d woken up and dragged his sorry, pickled ass downstairs.  
  
  
Still frowning, she stated in voice that Harry was all too familiar with, “That was really stupid, Harry. I mean, really stupid. You have no tolerance for alcohol whatsoever! What in the name of Merlin’s beard possessed you to do such an idiotic thing?”   
  
  
Rubbing his forehead, Harry replied, “Um, Hermione… do you think you could maybe bring your tone down an octave or _five_?”   
  
  
Crossing her arms, she huffed, “Is it my fault you’re looking out of red-shot, bleary eyes today? Uh, is it?”  
  
  
“Dammit, ‘Mione,” Harry groused. “Can’t you show a bit of sympathy here? Do you always have to be so self-righteous?”   
  
  
Tapping her foot, she enunciated, “I am not self-righteous.” Pausing briefly, she asked, “Have you and Cedric Diggory been getting together and comparing notes?”   
  
  
Harry did a double take and then groaned at the pain that lanced through his temples at the jarring movement. Diggory?   
  
  
“Diggory?” Harry asked out loud. Gods, please, please don’t let Hermione know why he’d gone to see Diggory. “Mortified” wouldn’t even come close to describing how he’d feel if that were the case. Maybe he and Diggory had left things in a bad way but Harry hadn’t put Diggory down as a bloke who would blab because they’d argued.   
  
  
Relaxing her stance a bit, Hermione said, “Well, a few weeks back Cedric told me to get off of my self-righteous soap box or something along those lines. I guess I’m still holding a bit of grudge, although he’s been quite pleasant since then.” _Quite_ pleasant.  
  
  
“Hanging out with Diggory, are we now? Why?” Harry asked a tad shortly, bits and pieces of his conversation with Diggory floating round in his head from _his_ less-than-pleasant visit.   
  
  
“No need to snap my head off, Harry,” she informed him. “I’ve been working with his father at the Ministry and Cedric’s stopped in a time or two.” Truth was he’d stopped in plenty, but as far as Hermione was concerned, that was her business and no one else’s; not even Harry’s.   
  
  
Rubbing the back of his head, Harry asked casually, “What makes you think we’d been comparing notes?”   
  
  
Giving him a curious look, Hermione said, “I don’t. Not really. I just thought it was funny how alike you sounded.” Squinting her eyes, she stated firmly, “It’s no use trying to change the subject, Harry. So,” Hermione demanded, “what happened with Sirius last night?”   
  
  
Harry grimaced. Last night had been a nightmare, and Sirius had made it as clear as Harry’s befuddled head could grasp that he was no longer welcome to any decanter in the house containing liquor. No worries there, Harry thought.  
  
  
The conversation which had followed after Harry choked down the half-baked hangover potion had been sobering enough. Harry had wanted to pretend the whole night before had never happened; he even thought about claiming memory loss. He’d made the effort, but when he’d looked into his godfather’s serious grey eyes – an anomaly in and of its self – it had totally put an end to that little deception.  
  
  
Before he could change his mind – he was so fucking embarrassed – Harry bit the bullet and said, “Gods, Sirius… I’m sorry.”   
  
  
Sirius looked at him through his cloud of dark hair and asked simply, “Are you?”   
  
  
Startled, Harry rushed to assure his godfather. “Of course I am! I don’t know what happened. I suppose I was…” Harry stopped cold. What had he been?   
  
  
Sirius watched Harry closely, wondering if he was actually going to have an epiphany of sorts. When he remained silent, Sirius supplied the answer. “‘Jealous’ is the word I believe you’re searching for.”   
  
  
Harry’s mouth fell open. “Jealous?” he squeaked. “No, that’s not it at all. I was confused and…” Harry stopped. “I was drunk.” He tried again. “I didn’t know what I was saying…” Harry let the sentence trail off.   
  
  
“The whiskey loosened your tongue, I’ll grant you that.” Harry flushed. “There are two types of drunks, Harry. The first is a nasty drunk. They’re the kind spoiling for a fight.” Harry’s flush deepened. “The second is an honest one. Those are the sort that let fly with whatever’s on their minds or has been and they just haven’t said it for whatever reason; looser lips you’ll never find.” Sirius’ own lips curled into a twisted smile. “Congratulations, Harry; you have the dubious pleasure of being an interesting mixture of both – a rare find indeed.”   
  
  
“I truly didn’t mean those things, honest.” Harry was desperate for his godfather to believe him. Seeing the skepticism still in Sirius’ eyes, Harry plowed on, “I wasn’t jealous and I’m embarrassed and ashamed of the things that I said. I’m sorry.”   
  
  
“I believe that you are sorry, Harry, but I also believe there’s a small part of you that has, somewhere deep inside, been harboring some of those thoughts. I’d be lying if I told you that I wasn’t hurt.” Harry flinched. “I take partial blame for the sorry mess. I never should have topped your glass off time and time again.”   
  
  
Harry didn’t know what to say. He was sorry for hurting Sirius, deeply sorry. But Sirius hadn’t held him down and forced the liquor on him, he had drunk it willingly enough. “No, I won’t let you do that,” Harry stated emphatically. “I could have refused, but I didn’t, none of what happened was your fault.”   
  
  
“Thank you, Harry,” Sirius replied quietly. “I appreciate that but still, I played my part and I apologize for that.”   
  
  
“Are we okay?” Harry asked meekly.   
  
  
Sirius cocked his head the side and regarded Harry with serious eyes. “We’ve never argued before, have we?” Harry shook his head. “Differences of opinion happen in the best of relationships, my boy.” Harry brightened considerably at the ‘my boy.’ “If I consigned every relationship I have to the bin each and every time I’ve had an argument with someone… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be having much company.” Sirius grinned and Harry felt a weight lift off of his heart.  
  
  
“Can we forget this ever happened?” Harry suggested, fully expecting Sirius to agree; it was a shock when he said, “No, Harry… what’s said is said. Apologies can be given and accepted but one can never take back the words and the sad truth is, those words can never be forgotten. Forgiven? Yes, but not forgotten. No, my lad, no.”   
  
  
Harry felt as if he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. “Now then,” Sirius continued, “we’ve both said our piece and have had apologies all around. Let’s not let it prey on our minds or be the ruination of us, but let us learn from them. Understand?”   
  
  
Harry did, a bit. He wasn’t much for delving deep into his thoughts, feelings or motivations, it made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t the type to run away from physical obstacles or dangerous situations, but more than once, Hermione had told him that he’d had a habit of running away from his insides. At the time he hadn’t quite understood what she’d meant and she hadn’t elaborated, but he could tell his inability to grasp her meaning had been frustrating to her. Maybe this was it? Maybe this was the point she had been trying to get him to recognize.   
  
  
Clapping Harry on the shoulder, Sirius suggested in a jovial manner. “What do you say to a trip to Diagon Alley? You’ll be needing school supplies and such.”  
  
  
Harry exhaled. “Sounds good. I could use a new quill.”  
  
  
After they made the necessary purchases, Harry tentatively asked Sirius if he would mind if he went to Hogwarts and met up with Hermione. Looking surprised at the request, Sirius said, “Harry, you needn’t ask my permission, you’re an adult now. Get along with you. I’ll just keep Rosmerta here company for a while.” He gave the owner of The Three Broomsticks a cheerful leer. Her answering smile to his godfather’s teasing had Harry high-tailing it out of there. He had no desire to sit by while Sirius worked the infamous Black charm on a woman.  
  
  
“We got to talking about my parents," Harry told Hermione. And you, he added silently. “You know, reminiscing about when they were at Hogwarts and stuff like that.”   
  
  
“And _that’s_ the excuse you’re going to use for getting blind drunk?” Clicking her tongue in disapproval, Hermione said in exasperation, “I don’t know that I care for the influence that over-grown school boy you call your godfather has on you.”   
  
  
Indignant at Hermione’s summation of Sirius’ character, Harry snapped, “And _I_ don’t know that I care for your maligning my godfather!”   
  
  
Hermione blinked. What was wrong with him? Had alcohol addled his brain permanently? “Harry, I’ve made no secret of what I think of Sirius and his juvenile ways. Why, all of a sudden, does it bother you?” Hermione waited for his answer, an expectant look on her face.   
  
  
Cripes! Harry thought to himself. How the hell am I going to save this situation without admitting to Hermione that Sirius had vehemently defended _her_ character after he’d suggested that she must have been taking her clothes off to all of sundry? A sure fire way to a terrifying hex if he did, no doubting that outcome.   
  
  
Refusing to meet her penetrating gaze, Harry spoke to the floor. “It’s just that Sirius admires you and your – what was the exact thing he said? Um, I want to get it just right.” Peeking up at her through his lashes, he battled to find the next words. “Your intelligence, and he’s grateful for what a good, solid friend you’ve been to me.”  
  
  
Harry was quite proud of himself. He’d pulled a perfectly reasonable answer right out of his arse. It sounded pretty damn convincing to him.   
  
  
Hermione just stared at him, saying nothing for a moment or two before breaking out into a torrent of giggles.   
  
  
Harry was stupefied. Why was she laughing?   
  
  
“Oh, Harry,” she gasped between giggles. “I’ve never heard such utter drivel.” Hermione began to wipe tears of mirth from her cheeks. “I am very aware of Sirius’ opinion of me. ‘Bossy’ and ‘know-it-all’ are but a few of the adjectives – and frankly the least obnoxious – that have ever come out of his less than complimentary mouth.”   
  
  
“He _does_ admire you,” Harry insisted. “What about when he called you the brightest witch of our age?”   
  
  
“Okay, okay… no need to get your boxers in a bunch,” she exclaimed, her eyes still shining with moisture. “I’ll concede that he admires that fact that I’ve stood by you through everything and that he appreciates my masterful ability with a wand, but _that’s_ where I draw the line of his admiration.”   
  
  
Harry shrugged. “Fine, believe what you want.” He was just happy that she’d believed the partial untruth he’d told her. Better a part of it then none at all.   
  
  
Deciding to let the subject of his inability to hold his liquor drop, Hermione asked, “I was about to have some tea, want to join me?”   
  
  
She was eager to entertain her first guest as hostess to her new quarters.   
  
  
The idea of tea and whatever snack Hermione might have available for the offering, made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. But there she was, smiling at him, making it clear how much it meant for him to stay and have tea with her. How could he say no to that?   
  
  
“Sure,” he agreed and hoped he’d sounded and looked suitably enthused.   
  
  
“Great!” she exclaimed, grabbing his hand and guiding him over to a ruby red couch. “Wait until I tell you about my plans for the year!” Harry groaned internally. He was going to be stuck here listening to her for _hours_.  
  
  
Conjuring up a tea-set with a swish of her wand, she began to rattle off an itemized list of ideas that had his headache coming back full force.   
  
  
Half an hour later Harry was struggling to keep his glassy-eyed boredom from showing. He’d ‘uh-huh’ed where appropriate and ‘really’ed when uh-huhs weren’t, nodded and ‘oh’ed and ‘ahh’ed until he was sure Hermione, as brilliant as she was, would figure out that his attention had been wandering from the first ten minutes into it. But when Hermione warmed to a subject, she was totally oblivious. It was completely at odds with her otherwise amazing ability to see through just about anyone to their true motivations.  
  
  
Desperate to make his escape, he was getting ready to tell her that he was late for meeting up with Sirius and had, in fact, just placed his cup on the coffee table in front of him when a knock sounded on the door.  
  
  
Harry wondered who in the world would be coming to see Hermione other than himself and Ron. Not that Harry actually thought it was Ron, because let’s face it, Ron wasn’t all that enthused about finishing out his last year, seeing as how Hermione had informed them they would be doing their own school work because Head Girls didn’t allow for that sort of almost-cheating. Ron had pleaded, even used puppy dog eyes, but Hermione held firm. Ron had not been happy with her at all, so the chances on him paying a visit before term started was about nil.   
  
  
Glancing at Hermione, Harry noted that she didn’t look in the least surprised. Pleased? Certainly. But not surprised. She, however, surprised him by jumping up and running to an oval mirror by the mantle of the fire place, checking her reflection. She patted the twisted bun at the back of her neck and pinched her already pink cheeks. She further astounded him by whipping off her robes to reveal her school uniform… sort of.   
  
  
All through school, Hermione had been almost fanatical about her neat and proper appearance. What Harry saw now had his brows scrunching together. Sure, the white oxford shirt – which was a normal piece of school attire – was still neat and white to the point of hurting one’s eyes and starched within an inch of its life. But that’s where the similarities ended! To start with, it wasn’t its usual buttoned-up self. Harry also couldn’t help but wonder if she’d accidentally shrunk it in the wash as well. She just had to have because it clung – there was no other word for it – to her … um… rounded bits? Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he supposed that was what one called them while trying to be respectful about it. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, several buttons – far too many in his opinion – were undone, leaving her collarbones and several inches of skin beneath them open to his astounded and curious eyes!   
  
  
That wasn’t the end of her transformation, oh no. Her skirt was hiked up disturbingly high; far higher than was necessary. That just couldn’t be beneficial to her health, not at all! Everyone knew that it was unseasonably cool outside and even more so in the halls and rooms of Hogwarts and it stayed that way until the heat from all the torches and sconces had an opportunity to infiltrate the stone walls, making it nice and toasty for its residents. Filch took care of that task a week before the students’ arrival and as both he and Hermione were early, well… it wasn’t exactly toasty warm yet.   
  
  
Harry did a double-take. Was she wearing tights without the upper parts?! She has to be, he thought in dismay. They stopped short mid-way up her thighs! What was holding them up? Where the hell were her socks?? Harry was totally flummoxed. Not only did Hermione have, uh… rounded bits, but she had thighs too!   
  
  
Harry blushed furiously and looked away from Hermione’s exposed form. Was it hot in here? Harry glanced at the fireplace. Nope, no fire had been lit while he wasn’t paying attention. Pulling at the collar of his own school shirt, Harry wished he’d unbuttoned a few of his own buttons. Sweat began to gather at the back of his neck. Not a lot, but enough to dampen the hair there, making him even more uncomfortable. Suddenly, Harry’s conversation with Diggory came flooding back. Diggory had made a point of mentioning that Hermione was a real live breathing woman and even Sirius had questioned if Harry had thought of her as sexless.   
  
  
Peeking once more in Hermione’s direction, Harry noted that she was fussing with her skirt, smoothing it down. Harry’s eyes widened in horror when she took her wand, mumbled a spell and watched as her skirt got even _shorter_!! This was just too much! Enough was _enough_! He was not going to let her answer the door looking like… looking like… _that_!   
  
  
“Mione!” Hermione turned at the desperation in Harry’s voice.   
  
  
Frowning, she opened her mouth, presumably to ask what his problem was, but Harry would never know for certain because another knock came, this one louder and more insistent than the first.   
  
  
Swiftly turning on her heel, she left him on the couch, frustrated at his inability to get her attention. He tried, really tried, not to notice the expanse of flesh that she unknowingly flashed him in her haste to get to the door. Did she even realize that when her skirt flared out like that with each step she took, that he could just about see her knickers?   
  
  
Flinging the door open wide, Hermione welcomed someone with a breathless, “Hi.”   
  
  
Harry craned his neck, nearly straining himself to see who was there. Maybe it was the Headmaster come to see her settled into her new abode. Yeah, that was a definite possibility, probably stopped in to make sure the Head Boy was okay too. It wouldn’t be a strange thing for him to do at all; covering all the bases was Dumbledore’s style, as Harry knew from personal experience.   
  
  
Although he couldn’t actually see who was in the doorway, Harry could see Hermione reach out with one hand, much as she had when he’d come calling on her forty-five minutes ago. If he’d thought her attire was shocking, it was nothing compared to the shock he felt when her visitor stepped forward into Harry’s line of vision.   
  
  
Cedric Diggory!

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cedric and Harry size each other up right in front of an oblivious Hermione who is the perfect hostess.

  **Chapter Five**  


 

If Harry was surprised to see Diggory, he seemed no less surprised to see Harry. His handsome head reared back, and the pleased heart-pounding smile he’d greeted Hermione with was swiftly transformed into a neutral expression. Hermione seemed oblivious to the change as she urged him farther into the room.

 

Harry noted with embarrassment that there was none of the silly gawking which was he had indulged in when he’d entered the room. But why should there be? Cedric had been Head Boy in his day and was more than likely well acquainted with the sumptuous surroundings. Still, his easy acceptance of such opulence had Harry feeling like a gauche school boy in comparison. A development which added to the uncharitable feelings Harry already harbored toward Cedric Diggory.

 

“Potter,” Diggory greeted Harry in a clipped yet polite manner. Harry couldn’t help but compare this Diggory with the one who had invited him into his own home not that long ago. That Diggory had been agreeable and welcoming: sweet even. He’d been a rather good host too. Harry found himself missing that particular Diggory.

 

Harry settled for a brief nod of his head as a way of acknowledging Diggory’s unenthusiastic greeting and left it at that.

 

Cedric placed his hands in the front pockets of his navy blue trousers before stating in a relaxed, casual way, “I didn’t realize that students were permitted to enter the school grounds early.”

 

Harry’s reply was made in a barely civil tone. “And I didn’t realize that _former_ students were permitted to enter the school grounds at all.”

 

Diggory, who seemed completely unfazed by Harry’s animosity, stated with a smirk, “They aren’t, not really.”

 

And that was all. He offered no reason, nor excuse for his unsanctioned presence on the grounds, and no legitimate reason as to why he was calling on Hermione in her personal chambers. _Alone_. At least they would have been alone if Harry hadn’t decided to drop by unexpectedly.

 

Turning his broad back on Harry - and didn’t that make him feel distinctly like a third wheel - Cedric leaned forward and teasingly inquired, “So, tell me my newly installed Head Girl, are you happy with your humble accommodations for the year?”

 

Harry was a bit put out by the way in which the older boy was turning on the infamous Diggory charm. It was lethal; Harry knew it to be true. Hadn’t Cho withered and wilted right before all of Hogwarts’ eyes when Diggory had dumped her? And, after the break-up, hadn’t she warned anybody who would listen not to fall for his slick charm? It appeared as if Hermione either hadn’t gotten the memo, or chose to ignore Cho’s dire warning. Because Hermione seemed ready - eager almost - to be charmed by the former Hufflepuff.

 

“More than,” was her enthusiastic reply. Turning to look at him once more, she added, “Harry was just joining me for a spot of tea. Weren’t you, Harry?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Harry replied, picking up his delicate cup and draining the last dregs of the luke-warm liquid.

 

Then, he placed the cup on the small table, and settled in for a nice long stay. All thoughts of escape had vanished from Harry’s mind. There was no way he was going anywhere now, especially since Hermione was dressed in such a provocative manner. It wouldn’t be right leaving her alone with Diggory. For all he knew, Diggory made a habit of seducing innocent, unsuspecting witches. They didn’t come more unsuspecting than Hermione no matter now smart she was.

 

There was a huge difference between book smart and boy smart. Not that Diggory was a boy. Nope. He was definitely a man, a _really_ good looking one. Perhaps if Diggory had been sporting a wart, a zit, or anything remotely associated with gross, Harry would have been less alarmed at the prospect of leaving Hermione. But the reality was that Diggory didn’t have a zit or a wart. His features were as perfect now as they had been when he attended Hogwarts.

 

Glancing at Harry’s empty tea cup, Diggory grinned in satisfaction before saying, “Looks like you’re about finished, Potter.”

 

“Not really,” Harry refuted Diggory’s claim with asperity. “We haven’t even had our biscuits yet.” In a gesture filled with defiance, Harry snatched up a biscuit and took a hearty bite out of it.

 

Brow furrowed, Hermione admonished him, “Harry, for goodness sake! Don’t stuff your face like that!” To his horror, she continued, sounding just like an exasperated mum. “You could choke or something.”

 

Harry’s face filled with hot color. Why did Hermione have to persist in treating him like a little boy, and a manner-less one at that? He wasn’t a little boy. Okay, he could admit that he was young, but so was she. All right, so she was a year older. Still, it was one lousy year. A year was nowhere near as big as the three year age gap that separated him from Diggory. But more disturbing was the fact that a mere two years separated Diggory from Hermione, which was not exactly the age gap from hell.

 

Harry grimaced in new–found annoyance when Diggory sat next to him on the couch. He had no other choice; the only other chair sitting close enough to chat comfortably was Hermione’s. The feminine cut of the cast–off robes was a dead give away as to where she had been seated. Diggory, being no idiot, figured that one out without having to be told.

 

The couch could have comfortably seated three people if one were of small to medium breadth and width. Diggory was neither. So, here he sat with Diggory’s thigh pressed against his own. Harry could feel the heat coming off of him. His actual body heat, and it was making Harry extremely uncomfortable. He squirmed, doing his best to try to become one with his arm of the couch.

 

“Is there as problem, Potter?”

 

Harry had tried to be discreet in his movements, but it looked as if he hadn’t done a great job of it. Another wave of mortifying color crept over his cheeks at being called out. “No,” he mumbled, taking another bite of his biscuit. He chewed on it absently. He wasn’t enjoying it in the least; it tasted like sawdust in his mouth.

 

Harry found himself choking on a few granules of biscuit when Hermione bent forward exposing a dangerous amount of cleavage in the process. A wave of fresh sweat broke out over his upper lip, and Harry quickly averted his eyes. She was his friend, dammit! And, as such, he owed her his respect not this… this unheard of reaction to her near naked form.

 

Diggory didn’t seem to be having a problem with the view. He wasn’t ogling, Harry had to give him his due, but he didn’t exactly look away either. Harry had to confess that the man would have to be absolutely blind to miss all of that skin. Considering that Harry had never seen hide-nor-hair of spectacles in Diggory’s possession, he guessed that Diggory wasn’t blind.

 

Harry was sure, almost positive, that Hermione hadn’t intended to flaunt her assets in such a way. Still, he had to confess that he really couldn’t lay the blame totally at Diggory’s feet. Hadn’t he seen Hermione take her wand in hand and change her modest school uniform into a siren’s call? Nope, he couldn’t blame Diggory _too_ much.

 

After taking a sip of his tea, Diggory proclaimed it ‘perfect.’ Hermione positively beamed. Harry rolled his eyes. Taking another sip, Diggory said, “I can’t quite place it though. It’s not Darjeeling, nor Earl Grey.”

 

Hermione’s eyes sparkled with a playful mischievousness. “No, it isn’t,” she agreed, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Finally, a tea that you can’t name after the first taste or two.”

 

“Now, hold on there,” he proclaimed, his own grey eyes alight with laughter. “Give me a moment to roll it around on my tongue.”

 

Hermione blushed crimson, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking of Diggory’s tongue as more than just an instrument of a tea connoisseur. Harry reached up and pulled at the tie which seemed to be far too tight around his neck. Perhaps he should have let Remus help him with it instead of Sirius. Sirius put great stock in a refined appearance and that included a smartly tied tie. Harry’d never noticed before how constricting Sirius’ well-formed knots could be.

 

Then, another thought struck Harry. Hadn’t Hermione said that it was _finally_ a tea that Diggory couldn’t name? That being the case, it sure sounded as if the two had shared more than just this tea setting. That meant that this wasn’t a one off!

 

Yet, Hermione had never once mentioned taking tea with Diggory before. Why? Was she ashamed to admit to her friends that she’d been hanging out with him? Carefully watching the two interact with so much ease put paid to that notion, and their body language spoke volumes. They were each leaning toward the other smiling and chatting away, forgetting about his existence all together. That alone was putting his nose out of joint, and was really quite rude of Hermione considering he was her guest too.

 

“All right,” Diggory gave in. “What type of tea is it?”

 

Harry almost had a heart attack when Hermione placed her hand on Diggory’s knee before saying, “It’s a special brew of my own.”

 

What the hell was going on here?! First, Hermione charmed her clothes into something that, in the past, she’d made disapproving comments on when other girls had done the same. And now… now she was touching Diggory! And not just touching him, oh no… she was touching him on the knee! This was becoming far too much for Harry to process logically.

 

“You clever girl,” Diggory exclaimed while placing his own hand over Hermione’s. “It’s amazingly flavorful as well as being gloriously full-bodied.”

 

Harry gritted his teeth. Was that a sly reference to Hermione’s curves? It had better not be, or he might have to duel the bastard!

 

“It’s tea, Diggory,” snapped Harry. “Not wine.”

 

Cedric’s head swiveled in Harry’s direction. “I do know the difference, Potter.”

 

“Harry,” Hermione said with a frown, “you don’t know a thing about tea, so don’t go giving Cedric a hard time. He knows what’s he’s talking about.”

 

“Oh really?” Harry queried, clearly not believing her. “How so?”

 

A perplexed Hermione stated sharply, “For your information, Cedric has taken ownership of Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shop.” Harry couldn’t have been more surprised than if a cloud of flobber worms had dropped from the sky. “He hasn’t changed the name because it’s been a popular hang out for the students for years. Cedric thinks, and rightfully so, that if you’ve got a good thing going, why mess it up.”

 

“Oh,” was all Harry said. Was there really a need for more than that?

 

Apparently Hermione thought so because a second later she asked him, sounding once again like someone’s mum, “Now don’t you think you owe Cedric an apology?”

 

At first, it looked as if Harry would refuse, but the dagger-like glare shooting out of Hermione’s eyes changed his mind pretty swiftly. “I apologize, Diggory.” It sounded forced, but at least it was an apology of sorts.

 

The grim set of Diggory’s features told its own story. Clearly, Harry’s rather lame apology wasn’t sitting too well with him. He answered accordingly all the same. “Don’t worry about it, Potter. Most people aren’t aware of what I do for a living.”

 

Personally, Harry was thinking it was a weird way to make a living. Owning a tea shop? Cedric Diggory? Golden Boy of the age? The bloke who many thought would go on to do something spectacular. Wow, what a fall from grace. Suddenly, Harry felt a bit better about himself. He’d bet his last galleon that Amos Diggory wouldn’t be walking around any time too soon boasting about what his ‘perfect boy’ was doing with his life. And that thought made Harry feel even better!

 

“Cedric travels extensively buying and selling all sorts of teas,” Hermione gushed. Harry’s confidence level took a nose dive at how impressed Hermione sounded. “He’s been to the States, Guatemala, China, Japan, Haiti; absolutely everywhere!”

 

“Hermione,” Cedric interrupted, looking embarrassed. Not that Harry thought he really was, mind you. He’d seen Diggory do his Mr. Humble act before. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

 

At last! Something Diggory’d said that Harry could agree with.

 

“Now, Cedric,” Hermione playfully rebuked him while giving his knee a squeeze, “you’re just being your usual modest self. What Cedric isn’t telling you is that he not only buys and sells, but he creates teas too. Isn’t that marvelous?”

 

“Yeah, marvelous,” Harry muttered under his breath.

 

“In fact, Cedric’s creations have just gone world wide, and they’ve been well received by the public. The experts in the tea business have been equally impressed. Cedric will most likely be ranked right up at the top of the tea chain!”

 

To Harry’s dismay, Hermione was managing to extol Diggory’s accomplishments in much the same manner as the other bloke’s dad!

 

As if reading Harry’s mind, Cedric said with a small laugh, “Next to my father, Hermione’s become my biggest fan. What she isn’t telling you is that over the last few months she’s been instrumental in helping me perfect the quality of my teas.” Bringing Hermione’s hand to his lips, Diggory placed a small kiss on it before adding, “Without her skillful tongue and palate, I’d still be searching for some of the correct combinations of teas. She’s an absolute marvel.”

 

Harry’d had just about enough of this Mutual Admiration Society. He thrust the plate of biscuits at Diggory. “How about a biscuit to go along with your tea?”

 

Cedric was forced to relinquish Hermione’s hand when the plate was shoved at him. Which, of course, had been Harry’s intent all along. The two wizards exchanged a silent stare filled with unspoken meaning. Cedric knew perfectly well what Potter had done and why.

 

Pushing the plate back at Harry, Cedric said stiffly, “You’re too kind, but no thank you.”

 

“Why?” Harry demanded. “Aren’t Hermione’s biscuits good enough for you?”

 

“Harry,” Hermione gasped, determined to have a talk with him later on regarding his rudeness.

 

“On the contrary,” Cedric interjected smoothly. “Hermione’s biscuits, as I’ve reason to know, are mouthwateringly fresh and moist. They’re perfectly rounded while being warm and soft to the touch.” Harry’s hand tightened on the plate. “They carry an infinitely divine scent of vanilla, and when offered, I can’t wait to wrap my lips around them and suck and pull on their delectable creaminess.” Pausing slightly, he added with a libidinous gleam in his eyes, “It’s a treat not to be missed.”

 

“Oh, Harry’s never had those particular biscuits,” Hermione informed the older boy.

 

Cedric grinned wickedly before stating with firm conviction, “I thought not.”

 

It took all Harry had in him to not fling the plate at Diggory’s head. The berk was just begging for some sort of confrontation, and if he didn’t stop trying to bait him, he was damn well going to get it! And Hermione’s wrath be hanged!

 

“Harry’s only ever had the hard ones, although he doesn’t really care for those. His timing is awful.” Hermione laughed. “He only ever seems to show up whenever I’ve made a batch of those.”

 

“I’m not picky,” Cedric commented to Hermione, while once again flashing his to die for smile. “Soft or hard, I like them either way.”

 

“That’s because you’re easy to please,” Hermione playfully replied.

 

“On the contrary,” Cedric amiably disagreed. “I’m remarkably difficult to please. You’re just very adept at coming across with the goods. You ease my appetite while at the same time leave me aching for more. A wonderfully addicting combination.”

 

The plate Harry’d been holding slipped from his fingers and fell onto the table with a dull, deafening clatter. The sound jolted Hermione out of her disgusting drooling. She gasped when a small portion of china splintered and skidded in Diggory’s direction. Jumping to her feet, she exclaiming anxiously, “Oh no! Harry, what have you done?” Her eyes filled with tears, which made Harry feel like the biggest heel this side of Britain. “That’s part of a set that belonged to my great grandmother!”

 

“It’s all right, Hermione,” Diggory assured her before picking up the shard as well as the plate. “Don’t worry, it’s fixable.”

 

Wiping a hand across her face, Hermione asked in a tremulous voice, “Really?”

 

Smiling softly, Cedric declared, “Really.” With that, he twisted his wrist in what looked to be a complicated maneuver while silently mouthing a few words.

 

Harry was shocked when the sliver merged with the plate, although he supposed he shouldn’t have been because he’d witnessed Diggory using wandless magic at his little cottage. Regardless, he was impressed, and Hermione seemed equally impressed by Diggory’s display.

 

Cedric presented the completely healed treasure to Hermione who avidly examined it. Brown eyes wide, she exclaimed, “It’s perfect! There’s no seam whatsoever. It looks exactly like it did before Harry broke it.” Harry winced at her words. “Cedric, you’ve mastered wandless magic!”

 

Obviously, Harry thought derisively. It wasn’t like Hermione to state the obvious. This had to be Diggory’s influence. He was turning the brightest witch of their age into a dunce. It was practically criminal!

 

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” Hermione enthused, clasping the heirloom to her chest.

 

Harry was kind of grateful too. With Hermione holding the plate close to her heart, it had, in effect, covered up several inches of bare flesh.

 

Taking the plate from Hermione, Cedric picked up the biscuits that had tumbled onto the table. Then, with graceful, slender fingers he nimbly replaced them to their original place. This time it was Diggory who shoved the plate at Harry before saying, “If you must know, Potter, I have plans for dinner and I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”

 

Harry exhaled in relief. The blasted berk was going to be leaving soon. Brilliant! But Harry’s relief was short lived when Diggory casually asked, “Where would you like to go this evening, Hermione?”

 

“Oh,” Hermione exclaimed quietly and then, sounding disappointed, said, “I suppose I should stay here and organize my belongings. You know, get lesson plans started and draw up some ideas for the first Prefects meeting. Those sorts of things.”

 

Harry grinned and nodded his head enthusiastically at her response. Now there was his Hermione! The Hermione who would be a dutiful and diligent Head Girl. Diggory was in for one hell of a let down.

 

“That’s wonderfully diligent of you, Hermione,” Cedric proclaimed, echoing Harry’s thoughts almost to a tee.

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Was this arse using some sort of Legilimency? The very idea set Harry’s blood boiling. Well, he knew a thing or two about Legilimency as well. ‘ _But I’m a gentleman_ ,’ Harry thought smugly. ‘ _And above using such vile tactics_!’ Harry had the strongest urge to stick his tongue out at Diggory and say, “So there!”

 

“I understand your reservations, and they do you credit.” Hermione managed to look humble and proud at the same time. “But, once you officially begin the semester you’ll be far too busy to take tea with company. It might be a good idea to take advantage of the scant amount of free time you have at your disposal.” Diggory reached for Hermione’s hand, giving it a small shake before finishing up with a devastating smile that had even Harry’s heart thumping hard.

 

Hermione would have to have been a plank of solid oak to withstand that kind of devastating persuasion. ‘ _Come on, Hermione_ ,’ Harry silently urged. ‘ _You can do it! Turn the arse down! Remember who you are! The smartest witch of our age! Now’s the time to draw on those smarts and put this Pretty Boy in his place! Show him you mean business and take your responsibilities seriously_!’

 

“I really should stay here,” she mumbled, looking down at her feet. Clearly, she was going through a massive internal struggle.

 

“Okay, Hermione,” Cedric reluctantly agreed.

 

‘ _Yes! I won_!’ The thrill of victory coursed through Harry at lightening speed. This was almost as good as winning a Quidditch match! He felt like bolting out of his chair and thumbing his nose at Diggory while doing a wild victory dance; that’s how awesome he felt. The thrill dwindled with Diggory’s next words.

 

“Why don’t we compromise?” Diggory suggested. “I’ll go over notes with you on ideas for your Prefects meeting, and afterward you dine with me at a place of your choice. Muggle or Wizarding, it’s completely up to you.”

 

“Diggory,” Harry interjected sharply, “you don’t know Hermione very well if you think she’ll let someone else come up with or write out her notes.” Sounding triumphant, Harry finished, “Hermione isn’t the sort to cheat in any way, shape, or form.”

 

“Harry James Potter!” Hermione spat out angrily through tightly clenched teeth. “I most certainly do not cheat! And Cedric certainly wasn’t suggesting that I do so! He merely offered to help me with my notes! He was a Prefect and Head Boy after all! He probably has some wonderful ideas on how to handle my position!”

 

“Oh, I definitely have some wonderful ideas on how to handle your positions,” Diggory agreed while smirking wickedly at Harry.

 

Harry was livid! How dare Diggory continue making sexual comments about Hermione! Positions indeed! The scum! Harry shoved his hand into his robe. Diggory’s quicksilver gaze did not miss the movement. His eyes snapped up to Harry’s and the meaning was clear: Go for it and I’ll blast you into next week before you even have a chance to pull your wand. Harry’s hand clutched the smooth wood, but taking Diggory’s unspoken threat seriously, he didn’t attempt to remove it from his pocket.

 

Hermione shot Diggory a dazzling smile before saying, “I accept your generous offer. It sounds like a lovely compromise.”

 

“Brilliant,” Cedric exclaimed, sounding positively delighted. “Let’s get down to it, shall we?” Once more he glanced over at a glowering Harry. “You best be on your way, Potter. We have work to do.”

 

“I could help too,” Harry quickly volunteered.

 

Hermione cast a confused look at her friend before saying, “Are you serious, Harry?”

 

“Well,” he grumbled nastily, “it’s not totally out of the realms of possibility, you know.”

 

Sounding exasperated, Hermione began to enumerate the various reasons as to why it _was_ beyond the realms of possibility. “For one thing, you have your own studies to focus on. No doubt you haven’t cracked a book at all over the summer. More importantly, what in the world would you know about being a Prefect or Head?” Harry felt a hot flush wash up his neck. Did she have to make him sound like a complete moron in front of Diggory?

 

The agony continued. “And if I know you, and I do, you haven’t even packed for school.” Taking in the flash of guilt that crossed his face, Hermione exclaimed in triumph, “I knew it!” Shaking her head from side to side, she clicked her tongue. “And just look at that hair! You really should have let Mrs. Weasley have a go at it. You’re too stubborn for your own good!” Throwing her hands up in the air, she cried in despair, “What am I going to do with you? You have about as much common sense as a dung beetle.”

 

XXXXXXXX Cedric had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Hermione was really giving it to Potter but good. He might have been inclined to feel sorry for the mortified looking bloke if he hadn’t been trying to sabotage all of his attempts to get Hermione alone. As it was, Potter had done just about everything other than encase the young witch in an impenetrable chastity belt. Seeing the back of Potter was definitely going to make his day. Maybe then, he could get down to the business of wooing Miss Hermione Granger into his arms for a real good snog or two.

 

He’d been thrilled when Hermione had invited him to tea in the Head Girl quarters. He knew that at this time of year the school would be relatively empty, and he had hoped to take advantage of that fact to press his case from friend into potential lover status. Not that he’d intended to pressure her into sex. Not only wasn’t that his style, but he was of the firm opinion that men who pressured women ought to have their balls hexed off. No, he’d never force a witch, but he had planned on making it perfectly clear to Hermione that he was more than willing to take their relationship up a notch. And then what happens? Harry-bloody-Potter, that’s what!

 

Cedric had been in no way prepared to find Potter seated comfortably and cozily on a couch in Hermione’s room. Still, he’d made an effort to be somewhat polite. Not too much though, because after their last meeting, he didn’t think that Potter deserved politeness from him. For someone who’d come calling for advice, Potter had been one hell of an ungrateful, idiotic bastard. Not to mention the fact that his presence had ruined any romantic notions Cedric might have been looking forward to when he’d been invited to this little tête-à-tête.

 

Up until this point, he and Hermione had shared a basically platonic relationship. Once in awhile he’d briefly graze her hand with his lips, and then just casually hold it across the table. Or he’d throw an arm across her shoulders and pull her close to his side. Occasionally, he’d press a kiss to her forehead. Nothing too serious because he could tell that she wasn’t as experienced with men as the other witches he tended to date.

 

She’d gotten comfortable enough with him within the past few weeks to make her own subtle advances. Fleetingly touching him on the arm, patting him on the knee, slipping her hand in the crook of his arm as they walked through the halls of the Ministry of Magic, and just recently she’d shyly pulled his head down to her level and playfully placed a quick peck on his nose.

 

But, because Potter had been working on his nerves, Cedric felt justified in yanking his chain by making several off-color remarks. Sure, it was juvenile of him, and he was thankful that Hermione hadn’t picked up on them. She was innocent enough to take those comments at face value. That was not so with Potter. Although he truly appeared to not know much about girls per se, he’d been privy to enough locker room talk to know exactly what Cedric had been implying. Watching Potter squirm and struggle to control his temper had been highly amusing.

 

Through his taunting of Potter, Cedric thought he was catching onto Hermione's signals correctly. It seemed as if she was ready to move onto something less platonic, and that was just fine with him. He’d been ready since day one. He could still clearly recall how soft her breast had felt against his knuckles and the lovely, rose-petal hue which had blossomed across her freckle-splattered cheeks at his inadvertent caress. He felt a slight twitch in his trousers, and forcefully willed it away.

 

Cedric noticed that Potter had pulled Hermione a small distance away and was whispering feverishly into her ear. Whatever he was saying to her was not going down well at all, and it had to be about him because every now and again Potter’s eyes would flit in his direction. Cedric knew things had really taken a downward spiral for Potter when Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin in a determinedly defiant pose.

 

“Hermione,” Potter hissed, “you can’t stay here alone with him.”

 

“And why not?” Hermione asked, tapping her foot in agitation. “I was here alone with you before he arrived.”

 

“There is a huge difference,” he snapped back.

 

“Oh?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do tell.”

 

Instead of answering her direct query, Harry said, “He’s not even supposed to be here! You could get in trouble! Do you really want to risk your title of Head Girl so that you can flirt with a good looking bloke?!”

 

“Flirt?” Hermione’s face went as red as Ron’s hair. “Now you listen here, Harry Potter,” she poked him in the chest so hard that he fell back a step. “For your information, Cedric has a legitimate reason for being here, and flirting is not one of them!”

 

Harry snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, sure… whatever you say.”

 

Whoa! Cedric didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Hermione had reached her limit. The expression on her face was dark enough to put a storm cloud to shame! Potter was either too dense to see that or chose to ignore the glaringly obvious.

 

“Dammit, Hermione,” Potter pressed on, “don’t be so daft! He’s after one thing and one thing only!

 

Hermione shouted spitefully, “Well, maybe I’ll just give him that one thing, Harry, seeing as how you have so little faith in my ability to judge a person’s character and motivations!”

 

Harry was tired of trying to reason with her, and yelled back, “What the hell, Hermione! Did shortening your skirt shorten your brains too?!”

 

For a split second there was nothing other than an extremely uncomfortable silence in the room, and then Hermione exploded.

 

Pointing to the door, Hermione screeched, “Get out, you jackass!” When Potter didn’t immediately comply, Hermione whipped out her wand. “I _said_ , get out!”

 

“Hermione…” Potter began.

 

“Potter,” Cedric quietly intervened, “perhaps you should just go.” This was totally getting out of hand, and with Hermione practically radiating dangerous magical energy, Cedric was uncertain as to the outcome of this argument.

 

“Diggory,” Harry spat out, “this is none of your business, so why don’t you make like horse turds and hit the road!”

 

Cedric’s perfect forehead broke out into a deep frown. “Potter, I’m trying to do you a favor.” You damn fool. “I think Hermione needs some time to collect herself.”

 

Harry calmed down enough to be able to see beyond his own ire, which dissipated rapidly after taking in Hermione’s fierce scowl. Her wand was clutched so tightly that all color had drained from her knuckles. And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, her wand hand was shaking with barely suppressed rage. Maybe Diggory had a good point.

 

“Cedric’s right.” Motioning with her wand, she tersely added, “There’s the door. I suggest you use it, and don’t let it hit ya where the good Lord split ya.”

 

Harry’s eyes flew to Cedric, who was smiling slightly, grey eyes sparkling. It infuriated Harry when he remarked with a tinge of humor in his voice, “When I told you I learned that phrase from a Muggle friend, did I fail to mention that she’s also a witch?”

 

“Yeah, Diggory,” Harry muttered angrily. “You left out that little piece of info.”

 

Shrugging one broad shoulder, Cedric answered airily, “Sorry about that.”

 

‘ _Sure you are_ ,’ Harry fumed to himself as he made his way to the door. Wrenching it open, he remarked to the armed Hermione. “You’ll see I’m right, Hermione, when he uses you and then dumps your arse.”

 

Harry had just enough time to pull the door after him before Hermione let out a ferocious growl, which was followed by a massive explosion that made the heavy door shudder beneath the impact. 

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know squat about teas although I did do a little research on the subject.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Harry's departure, Cedric makes his move.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"How could he?" Hermione demanded angrily, lowering her wand in a dejected manner. "Saying such horrid things and… and making all those nasty insinuations!" Hermione spun around to face him and Cedric was totally taken off guard by the trail of tears slipping down her miserable face. "How could he?" she asked again, and the stark pain he heard motivated him to take her trembling form into his arms.

 

Gathering her close, Cedric cupped the back of her head pressing her face more firmly into his chest. "It's all right, Hermione." He placed a small kiss on her temple before saying gently, "I'm sure he didn't mean it."

 

Twisting the fabric of his shirt in her small hand, Hermione murmured, "Out of Harry and Ron, I've always felt closest to Harry and to hear those awful accusations coming from him was completely revolting and so hurtful!" Tilting her head, she gazed at him with bewildered, tear-drenched eyes, and asked, "Where in the world did all of that come from?"

 

She was breathtakingly beautiful, even like this with her sweet little face all splotchy and mournful. Using his thumb, Cedric gently wiped away her tears while reveling in the smooth warmth of her skin. Soft, she was so soft, and it wasn't just her skin either. Everything about this marvelous woman was soft; from her out of control mass of glory to the luscious body he still held, and while those things about her were monumentally enticing it didn't compare by a long shot with how enamored he was by the softness of this special witch's heart.

 

"He's frightened," Cedric casually informed her while pushing back a damp strand of hair that had come loose from its tight coil.

 

"Frightened?" Hermione echoed incredulously. "I don't understand."

 

A small smile settled briefly on Cedric's lips. "Come," he commanded with quiet determination, drawing her back to the sitting area and settling her on the couch before saying, "You and Potter have been in each others confidence for years, yeah?" Hermione nodded. "You've stood steadfastly by his side all of that time even when others didn't and you believed in him implicitly; that sort of unconditional devotion leaves an indelible mark and is rarer than hens' teeth." Hermione let out short giggle. Turning serious once more, Cedric stated with grim assurance, "That's why I don't think Potter really meant what he said. You've probably been the mainstay of his life up to this point. He's just afraid he'll lose that, afraid he'll lose you; that's all."

 

"That's crazy!" Hermione exclaimed. "How could he even entertain such a daft notion? After all this time he should know, _know_ without question that that is an absolutely ridiculous idea!"

 

"Fear tends to make us do and say crazy, inexplicably ridiculous things," he continued with a tender grin while grazing his knuckles along the length of her face. "And, is it? Is it really so ridiculous, Hermione? His fear of losing you?"

 

Hermione blinked in astonishment. A knot began to form at the base of her throat choking her with its intensity. Swallowing hard, she rapped out her answer clearly and concisely. "Yes."

 

There, she'd said it even though it might be the end of her burgeoning relationship with the wizard sitting next to her with his head now lowered so that she couldn't see his expression. Hermione felt a sudden deep, sharp pang of regret.

 

"Cedric," Hermione began hesitantly, afraid but determined, "I'll never, _never_ turn my back on Harry. He might be a massive git every once in awhile, just like now, and I might give him the most almighty hex of his life the next time I see him, but that doesn't change the fact that he's an integral part of my life." She paused briefly and then finished her explanation sounding slightly tortured, "He's my best friend even when he's being a louse. More importantly, he's my family and I love him."

 

Cedric's head whipped up and Hermione was held spell-bound by the fierce light in his steel grey eyes and the determined set of his beautifully molded mouth, and not for the first time she wondered if it would feel as satiny as it looked.

 

Cedric was tempted to give into her silent invitation; sorely tempted indeed, but he held himself in check because this needed to be said first. Clearly, Hermione was in a vulnerable state and he most definitely didn't want their first kiss to be marred by anything whatsoever. He wanted it to be perfection; the perfection he knew that it could and would be.

 

So, instead of following the primal instincts that were urging him forward, he forcefully shut them down and said, "I don't know Potter all that well and I can't lay claim to being able to discern what goes on behind those spectacles of his, but I do know what it's like to have someone believe in you totally. Believe in you to the extent that all else falls by the wayside; it can be intoxicating to the extreme, but it can also be a harrowing experience for both parties involved because it's very easy to take for granted and very hard to live up to all the expectations that go along with it."

 

Biting her lip, Hermione asked in a small voice, "You think I let Harry take me for granted? That I expect too much of him?"

 

Cedric's pristine brow scrunched up into a frown as he contemplated her questions. After a moment or two of trying to decide how best to answer without giving offence, he finally replied, "No, but I do believe that Potter takes for granted that he will always be the center of your world and that you haven't done anything to disabuse him of that belief. Because of this, I feel as if he expects your unwavering allegiance in all things to the point of not allowing others to be just as much of an integral part your life as he is which can lead to a very empty existence for you both, Hermione."

 

Now it was Hermione who lowered her eyes, confused by Cedric's summation of her relationship with the one person she knew she could trust and rely on without reservation. Were she and Harry really so co-dependent that it had turned into an exclusive and unhealthy bond? Did others see it the same way as Cedric? Hermione thought that Ginny might. She'd made mention of it more than once, but Hermione had just sloughed it off as silly, baseless jealousy. Come to think of it, the Weasleys in general seemed uncomfortable with their closeness and hadn't Mrs. Weasley expressed concern when she discovered that Hermione would be staying at Grimmauld over the Holidays?

 

At the time, Hermione put it down to Mrs. Weasley's qualms about her residing in the same place as Sirius who had gone back to his tomcatting ways. He no longer had to hide himself away now that his status as fugitive had been over-turned. But, maybe, just maybe there had been more to it than that.

 

Hermione was brought out of her silent reverie when Cedric took her hand and laced his fingers through her own and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Look at me, Hermione," Cedric softly commanded. When she did, he grinned that adorable lop-sided grin of his and said, "I'm not asking you to kick Potter to the curb." Hermione's entire body relaxed in relief. "I am, however, asking if you can make room for me; if _I_ can become an 'integral part of your life' too? Is that possible?"

 

Hermione's mouth fell open in surprise, and Cedric chuckled slightly at the confused excitement which settled on her sweet, piquant features.

 

To say that Hermione was stunned would be a bit of an understatement. Sure, she'd been wondering if this thing with Cedric could ever be something other than friendship, but in her heart of hearts she'd truly thought it only a remote possibility. He was just too gorgeous, too talented, too sought after, too everything, and up until now she'd thought far too unavailable to the likes of her. But she'd been wrong on that score, and it showed in his eyes, in his face, in his very body language that he was, in fact, 100% interested.

 

Licking her lips, and attempting to speak over a heart that was pounding so loud that it was all she could hear in her ears, Hermione answered with a simplicity that was second nature. "Yes."

 

"Fabulous!" Was his equally simplistic reply, then all exuberance was wiped clean as his handsome face set with a look of staggering intensity. "I'm going to kiss you now," he proclaimed tightly, and Hermione's already rapidly speeding heart skipped a beat. "Ready?"

 

Hermione was so ready that it was acutely painful; she was that pitifully hungry for the touch and taste of his mouth. And, when it was only inches away from her own – he seemed to be taking so dreadfully long about it – she grabbed his collar and yanked him the rest of the way. Cedric was taken off guard, yes but pleasantly so and he didn't hesitate on setting about proving to her that he was just as eager as she.

 

Cedric's mouth was everything… _everything_ she'd dreamed it would be, and so much more; Merlin… so much more! The taste, the texture and his technique were stunning and she moaned in rapture when he deepened the kiss. Maybe she should have been more circumspect, but she was feeling far from lady-like at the moment. Instead, she was feeling exquisitely alive and just his kiss was enough to make her aware of her own starved sexuality; she'd never given it much thought before. But, then again, Cedric Diggory had never snogged the daylights out of her like he was now.

 

She was outstandingly responsive, and Cedric almost lost it completely when she straddled his lap and fervently returned deep kiss for deep kiss. His senses were beguiled by the soft glide of her tongue moving sinuously against his own. He could taste the faintest hint of peppermint toothpaste and it made him want to gobble her up. His nose picked up the fragrance of her skin and hair; a heady combination of strawberry, vanilla and something that could only be the essence of Hermione, something warm and wanton. He wanted to touch her, badly. But, he didn't want to rush her or do something that might scare her off or offend her. But, by the Gods, he really wanted to touch her!

 

She settled his dilemma for him by slipping her hot hands through the opening of his shirt; he groaned deep in his throat as she began a tentative exploration of the strong column of his neck and shoulders. Without further ado or hesitation on his part, he settled one hand on the curve of her knee, his thumb idly stroking the silken flesh of her inner thigh. The other slid from the nape of her neck to her collar bone where the tips of his fingers brushed back and forth discovering by touch their delicate structure.

 

After a few moments of desperate snogging, Hermione pulled back reluctantly; her breathing harsh and her lips tingling and tender. Cedric was equally as winded and settled his forehead against Hermione's so as to catch his own breath all the while thinking he could cheerfully snog Miss Hermione Granger until the dragons came home!

 

"Well," Cedric chuckled, grazing the tip of his fine nose over Hermione's, "this isn't getting a bloody thing done in regard to Prefect meetings and such, now is it?"

 

Hermione nervously fingered a button of Cedric's shirt a second or so before mustering the courage to actually look him full in the face. His luminous eyes were dancing with amusement and barely repressed passion, and to Hermione he'd never looked more beautiful. While she, in comparison, must look an absolute fright with bits and pieces of frizzy hair hanging untidily about her over-heated face. She hurriedly scrambled off his lap – when on earth had she done that? – and began trying to put her clothes to right.

 

"What a mess I must look," Hermione exclaimed in embarrassed consternation. What must he think of her? Climbing all over him in such a fashion and… and attacking him like… like some common slag!

 

Cedric was extremely puzzled by Hermione's swift change of attitude and demeanor. One second they'd been locked in a magnificently heated embrace and the next she was beating a hasty retreat and moving as far from him as the couch would allow. Why?

 

"I'm sorry," she mumbled to the floor, confusing Cedric even more. "I don't usually… I'm not generally… I mean normally I'm not like that."

 

Like what, Cedric couldn't help but wonder. Then, realization struck and his heart swelled with compassion for this little witch who was so worried about being perceived as easy or loose. The very idea was downright absurd, and how in Merlin's beard didn't she know that? Hermione Granger was as principled as they came with nary a mark on her stellar reputation in regard to the male persuasion.

 

There'd been a time or two when her name had been bandied about the school. Namely in connection with Viktor Krum, but the fellow in question hadn't been the one casting it about. No, it had been jealous witches who had planted rumors and lies, but Cedric hadn't believed them. Anyone with half a brain could tell that the young witch hadn't been sleeping her way into the Bulgarian Seeker's affections.

 

Moving closer to where Hermione sat huddled up in a corner; Cedric sank to his knees in an effort to see her better which was a tough task because she was currently boring a hole in the carpet beneath her feet. Was she really that ashamed, that worried that he thought her behavior was too brazen? The silly chit, he mused with affection. Cedric grabbed her hand and was astonished to find the palm damp and her fingers cold as ice. The poor dear really was a wreck, and for no go reason at all!

 

"You know," he began reflectively, "there were two of us on this couch going crazy mad a few minutes ago. I don't generally go at it like that with someone, and I hope you don't think any less of me because of my lack of control."

 

The gratitude in Hermione's face made his little white lie worthwhile. In point of fact, he wasn't feeling in the least bit uncomfortable with their frenzied romp. It was true, in the past, that he didn't normally lose it like that at the beginnings of a relationship, but with her he just couldn't help himself.

 

"Not all," she assured him, her golden brown eyes wide with grave sincerity. "I was worried that you might think badly of me."

 

"Not at all," Cedric repeated her words back with equal gravity. "I think you're enchanting and sinfully sweet."

 

Hermione blushed, feeling both free from her anxious ruminations and overt elation at his forthright praise.

 

"Shall we begin work on those notes," he suggested, and Hermione let out a faint breath, grateful that they were once again getting back to a more innocuous task.

 

"Yes, let's," she agreed with a smile that lit up her face with a radiance that threw him off balance and made him want snog her until neither one of them could move.

 

Of course, he didn't follow up on those disturbing dictates of his mind and body; they'd indulged in enough of that for one day. Instead, he lent her a helping hand in rising from her seat – just as any gentleman would do – casually placing his arm around her slender waist as they made their way to the work table.

 

"Do you play?" Cedric asked, after noticing the chess set still adorning the center of their destination.

 

Flushing, Hermione sheepishly admitted that she did not. "Harry and Ron play often, but I'm a mere bystander to the game. I had intended on removing it. That way there'd be more room for all the Prefects and plenty of space to spread out parchments and lists."

 

"Sound reasoning for when there are meetings," Cedric allowed before adding, "but maybe when you aren't using it for those purposes I could teach you."

 

"I don't know," was Hermione's hesitant reply. "I'm not sure that I have the head for it. Ron's the clever one when it comes to chess."

 

"You don't say," Cedric shot back, totally astonished that Ronald Weasley had the ability to master the complex art of strategy required and that Hermione doubted that she was clever enough to do the same.

 

Hermione slid a piece of parchment across the table – sitting across was much safer than side-by-side – then handed Cedric an extra quill from her bag.

 

Not quite ready to give up on the chess issue, Cedric slyly suggested, "If you were to learn, and learn it well, imagine the expression on Weasley's face when you beat the school trousers off of him."

 

Biting the tip of her quill, Hermione tried pull up a picture in her minds eye of defeating Ron and what his reaction to that would be, and what she saw made her eyes snap with the gleam of justified retribution. Why not, she wondered. It would serve the git right. He'd been giving her the silent treatment since she'd informed that he'd have to depend on his own brain this year and not sponge off of hers.

 

"Let's do it," she exclaimed, the light of battle firmly set.

 

"Great," Cedric replied, mightily pleased that his suggestion was bearing fruit. "After we've finished here I'll give you you're first tutorial."

 

With that, they bent their heads to their respective parchments and while Hermione read over her prepared remarks –adding fresh notes here or there in the margin – Cedric wrote down his own ideas and suggestions from his days of having been Head Boy.

 

At one point, Cedric glanced over at Hermione who was so absorbed in her task that she'd forgotten about his very presence. He smiled when a tiny crease appeared between her fine eyebrows. She was such as odd mixture; on one hand a serious and dedicated swotty student, on the other, a naturally sensuous woman carrying in her a multitude of untapped womanly wiles. And, damn, if he wasn't utterly and completely and totally enthralled by them both! 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I had planned to make this, eventually, a true threesome but as I write on I find that I'm not sure if that's the best angle. It could end up Hermione being with both wizards, Hermione being w/one while the other watches, or all three of them might get down and dirty with each other. You let me know your thoughts on the matter because I'm still mulling it over.


End file.
